Trick or Treat?
by DarthSlytherin
Summary: The revelation of Gabriel's identity causes ripples in ponds which were never meant to be disturbed. Also, Michael chooses an alternate vessel, which will damage an already broken family. Spoilers for 'Changing Channels'. Very much rated M.
1. Power Hungry

Half of the day has already gone, and Sam still doesn't know what the Hell the Trickster was trying to say. He doesn't know what role to play, how or why, and when he is separated from his brother he feels the intense urge to strangle something... more namely someone. But, he is still alive, and considering the Trickster's track record with the Winchesters, that was probably a good thing because the odds are against him.

He has just finished his third sexually transmitted infection awareness advert when he comes upon a spacious and well furnished bedroom, complete with an antique loveseat, an enormous king sized bed with dozens of pillows, and a large balcony overlooking what could have been... Sam blinks. He's in Paris. He has always wanted to go to Paris, just to see what all of the fuss was about. Sam is certain that this is not a holiday for him though, and glances around himself warily. Any second now, someone with genital herpes, syphilis or a rash of ambiguous origin will step forth from the shadows and lecture him on safe sex.

However, after a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, so he ventures out onto the balcony, knowing that whatever he does is going to end in misery whatever way he does it, so he might as well enjoy the view while he can. He can see everything that he has ever wondered about in Paris; everything that he has ever considered visiting it for. He isn't even entirely sure that everything is real, but damn, it's beautiful.

"See anything you like?" A loud and obnoxiously familiar voice sings up from behind him, and Sam turns around to see the Trickster, lounging against the wall with two glasses in his hand, no doubt containing some sort of liquid contraception. Pushing himself off, the creature saunters up to the human, and offers him the glass casually. Sam eyes it distrustfully, but takes it anyway, without the slightest inclination of actually drinking it. "Now, Samuel, what have we learned about not letting other people suffer from our own stupid mistakes?"

Rolling his eyes, the human pours the contents of his glass over the edge of the balcony. A short scream rang out from beneath them, and the Trickster surveys the horizon thoughtfully as Sam's eyes widen at the figure three stories down, now damp with champagne. "You do realise this is actually Paris, right?" He sounds almost amused, which infuriates Sam further. After waving apologetically to the woman he had poured his drink on, he turned sideways.

"Where's Dean?" He asks, gruffly, hands curled into fists as he's long since dropped the empty glass onto the nearby breakfast table.

"Learning a little lesson of his own. No worries. Completely safe." The Trickster swirls the slightly fizzy liquid in the glass, looking semi-interested at it. "What's important here is that _you_ learn _your_ lesson."

"No sex without a condom; consider it learned." Sam quips sarcastically, and the Trickster giggles. Sam does not think he has ever heard a man giggle like that before, and then he reminds himself that the Trickster is much more than just a man.

"For your real lesson, Sammy-boy, you gotta look _behind_ the rashes." He makes a face, but doesn't continue. When Sam leaves them in silence, he finally sighs and the drink disappears from his hand for convenience sakes as he places both hands on Sam's shoulders, having to reach up quite a lot due to the height difference. "I've already told you. Think back, Sam, a grand total of twenty seconds ago." Sam does.

"Learning not to let other people suffer from our mistakes... Are you seriously equating genital herpes to bringing the Devil topside?" Eyebrows raised, Sam's lip curls with incredulous scorn. The Trickster shrugs.

"Call it artistic licence." The Trickster nods, to confirm and his thumbs dig in just above Sam's collarbone with the strength of something that isn't quite human.

"But we're _trying_ to kill Lucifer." He does not reply, and merely cocks his head to the side in a way which actually reminds Sam a little of Castiel. Golden eyes, flecked with an indescribable colour close yet different to green, are the only thing in Sam's vision, and he feels himself being drawn in by them. Behind them was a lot of power, and it actually gave Sam a buzz to think... what if he was on their side? What would Sam get him to do for them?

A quick, almost negligible flash of heat shudders through his groin as he thinks about having power over something like the Trickster. He can imagine pinning the creature down, feeling how helpless he would feel and it would be so much better than it was with Ruby because he was so much stronger. And he was under Sam's control; completely and unchangeably his.

"Play your role, Sam." His voice is curt, no doubt offended by the implications which he can see in Sam's imagination.

Before he has time to ask, in flustered frustration, what role to play, the Trickster is gone.

Letting his breath go in a long exhale which released some of the tension in his stomach, he leans against the banister, ignoring the throbbing in his dick at the thought of pinning down a demi-god. Oh, the things he would do to him. The things he would make him do. He would fuck him until he screamed, and not once would he be able to stop him because he was Sam's. He belonged to Sam and he liked it. Biting his lip, Sam turns around, and is surprised to be faced with a young, worried looking woman wearing little in the way of underwear, under a red satin robe.

"We need to talk, Sam." His eyebrows shot up, and the confusion running through his head contributing to his disorientation. "I got tested yesterday, and I have Chlamydia." Sam groans.

_Not again._

...

So the Trickster is Gabriel.

_Damn._

Sam exhales slowly through his nose, staring at the ceiling as though it will tell him the answers of the Universe if he looks at it for long enough. Dean is out, no doubt picking someone up so he can chuck Sam out to the Impala for yet another night. Dean doesn't seem to mind that the Trickster is Gabriel... if anything it is a relief to him. Not being able to kill the Trickster had been bugging him for a long time... Dean has always been one to hold a grudge against a monster which survived. But not being able to kill an archangel? That is almost understandable; they are only human, after all.

That said, it doesn't bode well for future aspirations, more namely killing the Devil and stopping the apocalypse.

Sam realises that he's not breathed in a while, and does so deeply. Thoughts wander onto to all the things which make more sense now that Gabriel is... well, Gabriel.

"Yes, quite the revelation, isn't it?" It is a mark of how much the apocalypse is grating on him that he doesn't even jump at the sound of Gabriel's voice. "Me, the strength of God?" Sam cuts his eyes over to where the Trickster is standing in the corner nonchalantly, sucking on a lollipop. "Quite the curveball."

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Gabriel raises his eyebrows, midway through pondering how best to lick the round cherry flavoured sweet, and freezes with his tongue poking slightly out of his mouth.

"Yeah." He began, sarcastically, waving the candy in a lazy circle in the air. "Then we could have spent more time braiding each others' hair and talking about our feelings." Rolling his eyes, he licked the candy again, turning his eyes away from the human. "It wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference." He muttered, in an almost serious tone.

"Why... you're an angel." Determined to get this all in the right order, Sam chooses to begin at the beginning.

"You are correct, Sir."

"But you kill people." Sam's face is contorted in confusion, and Gabriel moves closer, eyes ablaze once more with golden.

"I don't kill just people, Samuel." He sounds almost offended at the accusation of being a murderer. "I give assholes what they deserve."

"So. You're a dick." Even though he is talking to the strength of God, he does not trip over himself to be respectful. Most angels were dicks anyway.

"So punish me." Gabriel challenges, and even though he knows it was meant as a show of power, Sam still feels that little rush downstairs and his vision blanks slightly as he tries to control his dirty fantasy. Noting movement, Sam jerks backwards as the archangel comes to stand directly before him, positioning himself between the human's knees. "No really, Sammy." Sam's mouth falls slightly ajar as he realises that the challenge was meant in all of its literal glory. "I want you to punish me."

"I-" Sam attempts to deny it, but he is cut off from what was going to be a very unconvincing argument before he can even make it.

"I can see inside you, Sam, and not just your conscious thoughts. I can see your desires... not your want, but the things that you feel you need..." Fingers clasp around Sam's shoulder, and smooth along the back of his neck. Part of him wants to push away, and run away; push away the Trickster who had killed his brother repeatedly just to teach him a lesson which could have been taught with words, and run away from the confusion his stomach is twisting with.

The rest of him wants to succumb to the want fuelling his fantasies... that portion of him wants to bend Gabriel over the bed and fuck him until names are screamed and he is claimed as Sam's. No... he _needs_ to succumb to his desires.

Growling, Sam turns his face to the side, away from Gabriel, eyes closed as he tries to force his body not to respond. His body, intent on not listening, fizzled with tension and energy, keeping him on edge.

He starts, and opens his eyes in shock as something cold, wet and decidedly stick touches his cheek.

"What-" Gabriel rubs the lollipop along his jawbone, eyes following its every move like it was the most interesting thing he has ever witnessed. Unconsciously, Sam licks his bottom lip, and Gabriel freezes; a gasp is barely audible above the ambient noise that comes as a package in the cheap motel room. Sam does not care if he's being disrespectful when he takes the candy from the quivering archangel and licks it thoughtfully, before turning it against its owner. The saliva – now a mix between his and Gabriel's – leaves a trail along the angel's chin up to his mouth. Resting the head on a full and shaking bottom lip, Sam looks up into fiercely burning eyes.

"Suck." He orders, and the eyes flutter closed, their owner closing his lips around the head with a barely concealed groan. Fuck, would Gabriel feel good on his dick. It occurs to Sam, as he watches Gabriel giving the lollipop his undivided attention, that he's probably done this before, a lot of times. The more possessive part of Sam growled at this, and he pulled it away from Gabriel, eliciting a small disappointed whine. Golden eyes open once more, and they widen at the expression on Sam's face.

Upright, Sam stands taller than Gabriel by about nine inches, and although this makes him of a dominant statue he marvels at the power beneath Gabriel's vessel. He cannot think why he ever thought that he could have possibly been _just_ a Trickster. Groaning, he leans down as far as his neck deems healthy and bites into the flesh of Gabriel's cheek, thriving on the whine that he is rewarded with. He knows that it is a show. Gabriel could kill him with a bat of his eyelid, but he wanted this.

Gabriel wanted to be punished.

"Knees." Sam relishes the complete compliance with his order, and shudders when needy hands clutch at his sides, taking off his shirt as fast as they could; just another example of Gabriel's need for human sex practice. Zapping them away was faster, but it didn't bring the same exhilarating thrill which the desperately fumbling did. Realising that Gabriel, even on his knees, was at a height disadvantage for his crotch, Sam sits down on the side of the bed, watching the angel with gritted teeth as he noses the now bare flesh above the belt buckle. A tongue, sticky from sugar solution, darts out to lick lengthways along his abdomen. The belt buckle is the next to go, merely another obstacle to pleasure.

Popping the cherry tasting candy into his mouth, Sam sucks hard, nearly swallowing the whole damn thing when Gabriel catches his hardening dick through his boxers in his mouth, tongue working against the material with overwhelming sensation. Groaning, he throws his head back and reaches down to practically rip off his pants and underlying garments, now damp with angel saliva. Roughly, he grabs a handful of Gabriel's hair and forces him onto his dick, thrusting into an open and willing mouth much more forcefully than he otherwise would.

But he can't hurt Gabriel so he can be as rough as he wants to be.

"Harder, angel." The pressure builds and builds and _damn_ Gabriel is a good job. Sam knows he's big – bigger than most men – but he has no qualms in fucking Gabriel's mouth like he asked for it rough. To have an archangel on his knees before him with dick halfway down his throat, pure strength shaking through the cracks in his composure which were rapidly forming, is exhilarating.

But at the same time, it isn't enough.

Pulling out with a grunt and a blasphemous curse, Sam drags Gabriel upright. He falls against him brokenly, more torn apart than even Sam, who is panting in ragged breaths. He almost laughs because Gabriel likes giving head. A low moan rumbles out, and it's as close that Sam is every going to hear of an angel's true voice as he removes Gabriel's clothes, cruelly ripping them to finally expose him completely.

Usually, if given such a choice, Sam would have returned the favour, and sucked Gabriel off, but this wasn't about sex. This wasn't even about release... not completely. No. This was about _power_; this was what he could never fully achieve with Ruby and her demon blood. It got him halfway, but it never completely got him off the way he needed it to.

"I could hurt you." Forcing the candy through Gabriel's lips, Sam watches with an open mouth as a tongue coats it liberally in saliva. "Bend over." Pulling away from the lollipop and leaving a string of spit, Gabriel fell over the bed, with help from one of Sam's shaking hands. He is going to do this. He is going to fuck an archangel. He is doing this.

Bringing the candy up, he rolls it on Gabriel's back, which arches at the touch and causes him to lean back, almost impaling himself on Sam's swollen cock. "Gabriel, how hard?" Sam's conscience kicks in and Christ, it took an amazingly long time to do so.

"Punish me." Gabriel whines and there's no doubt how hard he wants to be fucked. He wants to be bled.

Forcing himself in, Sam feels his voice leave him in a muted and strangled cry, as he loses himself to dry warmth. Gabriel's body buzzes with intimate power and he literally glows, his skin golden and burning under Sam's hands which were flattened across his back. It's so hot that he is nanometres from losing his mind, crying out in something bordering between pain and pleasure and loving every second that he's pushed even further to the edge.

Gabriel makes a mewling noise, like an injured cat and Sam knows that it's wrong, but he fucks him harder. Harder and harder until Gabriel is shouting; screaming and begging for him not to stop because it hurts so much that he's drowning in the sensation, losing himself in the sensation and the last thing that he wants to do is lose control but he knows that it's happening: that he's falling apart. Gabriel is so small, writhing and squirming beneath him and the energy that he was trying to keep in was escaping, a little more each hard thrust.

The archangel was falling apart faster than even Sam, needing something to dominate him in a world which he had already tricked into submission. He needed something to remind him that he has no right, because even though he has free reign over all he can get his hands on – which is a lot – he still knows that it does not belong to him. He wasn't just saying it for Sam's benefit; he really did need to be punished. He needed to be fucked, and so far in, he hasn't met anyone willing to give enough to actually hurt him.

With Sam it hurts, and that makes it so much easier to remember the pain that he has caused other people.

Unsurprisingly, Gabriel came first, a sharply golden light infusing through his skin to make it even hotter than before and Sam was worried, for a split second, that he had lost enough control to lose control over his vessel, but it faded again, as fast as it had arrived. Pushing his shaking body back, Gabriel's movements are muted, and tired, taking more than he needs when he usually would have pulled away, and left the other party unfulfilled. This part is a small kindness to his dominator, only partly out of obedience.

Sam shouts, hoarse and dirty, against the back of Gabriel's neck, warmth seeps between their bodies, filling Gabriel up from the inside, before the hunter collapses, shaking and gasping, onto his back. For a long moment, silence reigns, then:

"So much for the safe sex lesson." Gabriel finally forces out, face pressed into the bed so his voice is slightly muffled. Sam makes a noise which is midway between a laugh and a snort, attempting to disguise his amusement. The buzz is beginning to fade now, replaced with questions and regrets, most of them on Sam's side. Gabriel remains relatively thoughtless; he has what he wants.

Sam pulls out of him with an uncomfortable groan, and pushes himself away on shaking legs. He is beginning to doubt his decision, and has become frightened with the implications involved with his actions.

"Fuck," he says, without thought to tone down his language. "What the Hell just happened?" Gabriel rolls over, stretching his body, and watches Sam grab his pants, pulling them on roughly.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it." Gabriel sounds amused, and it infuriates Sam. "You wanna hurt me? Hurt me, Sammy. I won't bite back." The Trickster – or whatever he is – heaves himself off of the bed, still completely naked, and saunters towards Sam, tilting his head, although the action holds far less innocence than when Castiel does it.

"No, it's-" Sam stops short. He doesn't know what it is. He still feels amazing – so good and so fucking powerful. He wants this feeling again. "It's wrong. You're an angel." The laugh that his words tear from Gabriel is rough, and it is bitter.

"Why? Because you don't want to be responsible for ruining a pure thing? Because it's against the rules?" Gabriel snorts derisively. "Please. Don't even presume to tell me what's wrong and what's right. You can't even tell yourself anymore." Enraged, Sam pushes the archangel and is half surprised when Gabriel allows himself to be pinned against the nearby wall, held painfully tight. Instead of displaying understandable discomfort, the angel squirms with pleasure, enjoying the pressure and the urgency Sam is broiling with. "You liked fucking me Sammy, and you know it." His voice is a small whisper, husky against Sam's neck. "And you want it back."

"I don't... I don't want it back." Sam denies, helplessly. He doesn't enjoy feeling this helpless; this useless to his own bodily desires. "You should leave before Dean gets back."

"I'll let you hurt me." Persuasively, Gabriel tastes his neck and fuck, the wet warmth of his tongue makes Sam's abdomen tighten. "I'm yours to play with, Winchester. You can do whatever you want to me..." Trailing off, the angel becomes distracted licking Sam's neck.

Closing his eyes, Sam wills this to be a dream. A really, really fucked up dream wherein none of it is real. Gabriel isn't here. Hell, Gabriel isn't even the Trickster. It should all just be the way it used to be.

But the thought keeps circling around in his mind: Would it really hurt him? Gabriel isn't trying to convince him to give it up to Lucifer. In fact, Gabriel is in no position of power at all. _He_ is. Gabriel isn't another Ruby. Ruby was never submissive like this. Unlike Ruby, Gabriel can give him what he needs, and not only would it feel good, it would be for the good of his cause.

Lucifer can't tempt him with power if he already has it, right?

Knowing that it is a really fucking bad idea, Sam kisses Gabriel anyway, hearing the Impala pulling up into the motel car park but taking a moment to register it.

"Dean." He warns, warily, and the tongue withdraws from his neck, followed by a sigh.

"Well you have my card."

"Card?" A soft, candy-filled giggle drifted through the air, followed by the unmistakeable sound of flapping wings, and a slight breeze plays across his cheek.

Sam is still sweating and sticky from activity, and he realises as he hears Dean's key in the lock that the bed must be too, but upon his brother's arrival into the room, he experiences the curious sensation of being dressed by an archangel, in a split second. Casting a glance towards the bed, he sees that it has been made, and is cleaner than it was upon his arrival.

"Alright?" Looking back up at his brother, Sam blinks twice before registering the question.

"Yeah, I'm gonna crash." Luckily, Dean nods and appears to share the sentiment, because he wanders over to the unused bed and collapsed, face down, almost instantly asleep.

Checking around him one last time, Sam reaches into his pockets, emptying them and setting the contents on the bedside table.

Among the keys, his phone and the assorted change and scraps of paper, he notices the red lollipop – no doubt cherry flavoured – and almost smiles.

"Nice calling card," he mutters, before pulling off his clothes, crawling under the covers, and falling straight to sleep.

...

_Hey, just wanted to know if you wanted this to continue, into a whole, full-blown fic (pun so intended) or if you like it just like that. To let me know, or if just to share opinions or advice, press the little review button and type away! :)_

_-Em x_


	2. Same Old Story, Different Verse

_A/N: Short and sweet this time, guys, just like Gabriel. (And me! - no actually, I look disturbingly like the female version of Richard Speight Jr.) Encouragement/discouragement is needed for continuation with the storyline hinted at near the end of the chapter, so don't forget to review. Enjoy! =)_

_..._

He wishes he could. He really fucking wishes he could, but he can't bring himself to forget how great it felt. How hot; how tight Gabriel was.

"Battling with wrong and right again?" an amused voice asks him, and Sam looks up, eyes fixating on the figure seen in the grimy, gas stop bathroom mirror. Hazel eyes connect, and Gabriel's mouth twitches slightly, and he crosses his arms, leaning back against the door so Sam cannot escape without forcing his way past first.

"What are you doing here?" Does he even have to ask?

"Taking a piss," Gabriel barks in his direction, with a slight giggle of glee. "You?" Sam frowns at him, loitering awkwardly by the sink and wishing that he'd brought some holy oil into the bathroom. Mind, Dean would have asked questions if he had, and last night wasn't something he _ever_ wants to mention.

"Seriously, Gabriel, what do you want from me?"

"First of all, Sammy-boy, you should know by now that I?" Gabriel shrugs, "I don't really do 'serious', and to answer, amusement and grievous bodily harm." He wiggled his eyebrows. "And that's just the foreplay." Trying to ignore how fucked up it all is, Sam moves towards Gabriel, stopping only when he is inches away. He can't decide whether to kiss him or to try – and most likely fail – to push him out of the way. Gabriel ends up deciding for him, knowing that it only takes a moment for him to mould this human underneath his fingertips.

Sam pushes him away, fighting beneath the onslaught of tongue in his mouth with a sharp yelp and strength born of indignation. Gabriel pouts, because clearly, he doesn't know this kid half as well as he claims he does. "What?"

"You can't do that," says Sam, incredulous that Gabriel has the nerve. "I need to go. Dean's waiting."

"Ah yes, how is he doing?" Sam ignores the angel's flippancy, pointedly. "I do hope he's recovered from my little game the other day."

"Bite me," snaps Sam, making a displeased face at the archangel. "I need to go." Time seems to freeze the instant their eyes connect, and Sam wouldn't be surprised if time literally did freeze, because Gabriel is more than capable. Suddenly, the angel seems a lot more imposing than he was before, but that might just be because he's not underneath him, pliant and submissive. The thought shoots a deep warm jet through his body of pleasant memory, and Sam struggles to control his actions.

Two hands place themselves on either side of Sam's face, warm fingers caressing his cheeks, and tilting his head down for a more direct line of sight into Gabriel's shockingly golden eyes. The heat is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time, because there is something different about Gabriel today, as if he has just realised that he is dominant. He is powerful, and he needs to set the record straight; he won't have a human thinking that he's superior to an archangel.

_Because that would be wrong_, Sam thinks derisively.

The hands on his neck smooth down to his shoulders, the movement relaxed and soothing, but then they harden, pushing down on him with such strength that his knees give way beneath the pressure. Falling down, he pushes out his hands to steady himself on Gabriel's thighs, staring up at the angel with something akin to offence and incredulity. Pointedly, a hand presses down on his head, forcing him forwards, so he is mere millimetres from Gabriel's crotch. The material of his pants is so full, and so stretched, fleshy, that Sam can't help the needy groan which escapes him.

As softly as he can, he traces his hands up to Gabriel's belt buckle, lifting up his shirt and working on the buckle while pressing his nose against the bare flesh of his abdomen. Above him, the angel shudders with unadulterated glee, a grotesquely pornographic moan slipping out past his lips. Reaching into the pants, he shimmies them down Gabriel's thighs, and works his hand along the hard swollen length, spit gathering in his mouth at the mere thought of taking him and swallowing him whole.

"You've done this before, Sammy," Gabriel chides, with amusement, from above, his fingers carding through Sam's hair harder than any lover typically does. "Lemme guess... you were sixteen and curious with your best friend." Sam smirks, neither confirming nor denying the accusation, and licks up Gabriel's cock, loving the feel of something so hot under his touch. This time, it isn't about power, like the night before. It is about pleasure, and while this should freak him out, it doesn't. It just... it feels remarkably right.

Swirling his tongue, Sam thanks an unknown entity – he thinks praying while giving an angel head is a little too much of a weird thing – that he doesn't have a gag reflex. In an uncontrolled thrust, galvanised by Sam's rough tongue, Gabriel yelps, pleasure spiking through his body and soaking him in bliss. The moment fades, but soon is replaced by another yelp, and a groan is added into his soundtrack only to fade into sharp, short gasps which rounded into soft and needy moans. Clearly, being held down and screwed isn't the only thing that turned the Pagan on.

"Sammy..." he breathes, eyes half closed as he tilts his head to the ceiling and takes in a strong, deep breath. His whole body is shaking, out of control. It feels so real; so unstoppable that he does not pause to question much of anything, merely allows Sam's pretty human mouth to take him places that he knows he shouldn't be allowed to go.

Control was lost a long time ago. In fact, the exact moment when Sam glared him down on a balcony in Paris, and started the fantasy which they now both existed, blissfully, in.

Now, it's happening all over again, as Gabriel jerks and shudders, spilling liberally into the human's willing mouth. A scream, alight with the bright golden white of his Grace, rips through his body before he can help himself, and he sags against the door, spent and limp as Sam crawls back up him, pressing his face into Gabriel's neck as he pulls down his own pants, inviting the angel's magical fingers.

It takes less than a minute to jerk Sam off, although he suspects that Gabriel may have used a little supernatural advantage to do so; never before has he felt so sensitive as he does now, as if he hasn't been touched in months.

They lean against the door for a while, exchanging wet, salty kisses and spent moans of post coital bliss, and it feels so good that Gabriel does not even consider stopping Sam taking such liberties.

Gabriel chooses not to divulge that he doesn't allow his other lovers to kiss him.

...

When Sam arrives out back to Dean, he is clean again, and is thankful that his brother is asleep with his face pressed unattractively against the window. He doesn't know how long he spent in the restroom, but he doesn't want an awkward moment when Dean would think him to be jerking off in the middle of a car journey. Times like those are always brought up in future arguments, even though it's ammunition each man has used against the other in the past.

Swallowing, the taste of Gabriel's cum still coating his mouth, Sam smirks slightly, angling into the car and pulling out of the gas station.

He is halfway down a desolate, country road, when a figure appears in the back of the car, and for a split second, he wishes it to be Gabriel, but then he catches a brief glimpse of tan and is slightly disappointed, although relieved that it is not a demon. In fact, he is extremely glad to see Castiel - the last they had seen of him is outside the warehouse where they had left the archangel in question.

"Dean. Sam." Castiel greets them as usual, and clearly his voice triggers some sort of reflex in Dean's brain, because he awakes with a blasphemous shout, making Sam swerve the car again. "We need to go to Ohio, to the place where you laid your father to rest." Sam hits the brakes, grinding the Impala to a stop before turning in his seat and looking at the angel behind them. Dean is similarly confused, and equally suspicious.

"Why?" Dean barks, not willing to return to the place where he had to let go of yet another parent who had been stolen from him. "What's happening there?" Castiel shifts uncomfortably, his blue eyes darting between the Winchester brothers warily, as if he is about to drop and entirely inappropriate and devastating bombshell on their heads. "...Cas?"

"There has been talk..." Suddenly, the usually emotionless angel appears to wear a lot of himself on his sleeve. "From Zachariah and his followers." Dean raises his eyebrows, shaking his head in a frustrated fashion, eyes wide.

"Dude, you can't just stop in the middle of explanations like that. It drives me crazy." With an audible swallowing noise, Castiel continues, albeit reluctantly.

"I have heard rumors that they are plotting to revive your father." The blue eyes flit downwards, as if he is ashamed of bringing the bad news.

"Why?" Dean's voice is small, almost broken, and for a moment, he sounds just like he is fresh out of Hell again, entering a world which feels crueller than the one he burned in for forty years. Castiel sighs, touching his forehead in an awkward, stressed motion.

"To use him as the vessel of Michael." In an instant, the engine revs, and Sam does a u-turn, around to the direction he had come from. Dean does not object, merely sets his jaw angrily. It is one thing for the angels to screw _them_ over – they are almost used to the fuckery by now. But this is a step too far, even for the Heavenly asshats.

So to Ohio they go.


	3. Deserters

_A/N:) Well here it is... I hope you all enjoy. Now, I have a vague idea where I'm going with this one, but advice is always appreciated, and I will take all suggestions into consideration. Thank you all for your lovely reviews, and _

_v son sayian, who was asking about Adam in this storyline, well this is set just after 'Changing Channels' so technically he is still dead via the ghouls. John, in my opinion, would be a better way for the angels to go, as he was the original 'Righteous Man' who was meant to go out in Hell. _

_Zeppelingirl23 _

_So on with the chapter... tune in for more smut in chapter four, I'm afraid this one's more a filler than anything else. And a set-up for angry sex. :D_

**...**

**Chapter 3 = 'Deserters'**

By the time they reach Ohio woodland – which is surprisingly easy to navigate with their surprisingly clear memories of the remote woodland – a feeling of dread is gathering in their heads and their stomachs, Dean already supporting a tension headache from the thoughts and urgency running through his brain. Neither brother, nor their angelic companion, speak on their way towards the grave, although every now and again, Castiel lends them both a worried glance which is mainly ignored by Dean, and returned feebly by Sam's weakly reassuring smile.

"We burned him here, and spread the ashes on the ground." Frowning, Dean looks over at Castiel. "Surely they can't bring him back if he's salted and burned?" he says, as if it's just dawning on him because he had been too panicked to voice it on the way over.

"It wouldn't make a difference. All they need is a birthplace, born of the place he was put to rest, and his soul. Presuming that his soul journeyed to Heaven, once it escaped from Hell through the Devil's Gate, they have probably made him agree in advance to their terms." Sickness courses through Sam's stomach and he fights the urge to throw up, mostly out of respect to his father's resting place.

"Have they been here?" Both Dean and Castiel shake their heads, and Castiel appears unfazed by Dean's knowledge in the matter. After all, Sam assumes, after a moment of thought, Dean is one of their boys brought back from the dead, merely from a less opportune place. He knows the vague ins and outs of the matter.

"Nah," Dean said surely, although he shrugged. "It would look like a canon went to town on the trees." He squints up, towards the sky which he assumes to be the path towards Heaven. Castiel entertains the thought of telling him that in reality, Heaven is more in parallel to the Earthly realm, but holds his tongue out of burgeoning human understanding. "Was that because of all the angel mojo that was floating around?"

"Human souls are... incredibly powerful things, Dean. And I was in my true form when I coaxed you back into your body," the angel says casually, as if this was something one would say to his neighbour. "The birthplace was flattened by the power it took to convince you to... return, so I could heal you." Dean turns his eyes on his angel, a slight frown marring his features, and Sam stays out of the way as they share another deep, probably mind-probing nostalgia which tends to make him feel as if he is intruding on a private moment. "You were not forth willing, after what you had suffered in Hell." Castiel continued bluntly, and Dean averted his eyes quickly, passing them over Sam quickly as if to remind himself that his little brother was still there.

"Alright Cas, concentrate on the scenery," he mutters, swallowing thickly at the sudden, heartfelt intimacy hanging in the air and cursing himself for the memories circling the drain in his head near his tear ducts. "They could be here any minute."

It turns out that nothing happens, and hours later, after darkness has fallen, Dean resigns Sam to sleep in the Impala, parked on the nearest drivable road, and to keep his phone on at all times, even though there is no signal this far into the wilderness.

Hours later still, when Dean begins to droop in fatigue, Castiel transports him back to the Impala, with a compelling instruction to join his brother.

In fact, when they wake in the morning, panicked and guilty for sleeping for so long, and run straight to their father's resting place, Castiel is still standing there, in the exact same position that Dean had left him in. Both Winchesters are certain that he has not even blinked in their absence, though are too relieved that nothing has happened that they keep their mouths shut about it.

After two days, of living in the Impala and switching shifts next to the resting place, they drive to the nearest town – one which is painfully familiar to them now that old memories have been dredged forcefully up from where they belong – and pace the motel room, occasionally calling Castiel for progress reports because neither of them are quite willing to believe that it was a false alarm which brought them here.

Castiel stays there for five days in total, not sleeping and not eating, and not doing much of anything except standing and waiting. When he arrives back, apologetic and shameful, he apologises profusely for being so rash to involve them in rumours, and next to passes out from exhaustion and overuse of his already anaemic Grace. Dean stays with him, feeling obliged to take care of the angel who dragged him from Hell, one year and a half ago. Sometimes he forgets it - Sam realises as his older brother takes of Castiel's shoes and jacket, and settling him into bed - that Cas was the one to pull him from the pit, and who stuck with them after all this time.

Sam leaves the cesspit of guilt and forgotten gratitude, knowing that Dean doesn't allow Sam to see him vulnerable. He cannot help but to be jealous that he values the presence of this stranger over his own brother, who he raised out of nothing into... well, something.

The front desk is very accommodating – and the receptionist is looking at him as if to say that he can stay the night in her house – but he eventually does manage to book a room and deposits his things there, leaning back on his bed and staring at the ceiling. All the worry and the frustration and the complete hopelessness he feels and has felt in the last few days accumulate in something dreadfully close to tears, but he breathes them back down.

Crying would only make him feel worse. The angels will try again, and he needs to stop them. That means involving someone who... admittedly, he doesn't really want meeting Castiel, his brother and most of all: his father. But the alternative is grave, and with a closely controlled hum, Sam rolls over to his bag, and opens the front pocket, pulling out the lollipop that Gabriel apparently didn't need to find him the first time. Unsure what to do, he waits for a couple of minutes, looking around him conspiratorially until finally deciding that something more has to be done for the summons. If the summons is even going to work – Sam was still uncertain whether not Gabriel was serious about the lollipop being his 'calling card' or if he was just doing it to forever turn Sam on whenever he was licking one.

Unwrapping it slowly, he felt his hand ground to a halt of his own volition, as the shiny, hard candy was revealed beneath the red wrapper. He could, just for a moment, remember the delicious noises that Gabriel made, echoing in the cheap, rusty decor in the gas station bathroom, sounding even more alluring and addictive than they did when they were uttered. A quick shiver runs up and down Sam's back, tingling in the breeze from the open window. Paranoid, Sam closes the open window and returns to the lollipop, finally summoning up enough nerve to pull the wrapper off completely. His salivary glands work manically to prepare his mouth for the sweetness, his body subconsciously remembering sugar and Gabriel on his tongue.

His eyes flutter closed; lost in the sensation of the memory and the sweetness of the sensation.

A slight breeze whips through the room, and Sam knows that he's there even though he doesn't want to open his eyes and make it real. Soon though, a hand flattens across his chest, so warm that it's unbearably hot, and he opens his hazel eyes to stare down into golden one, finding with surprise that he's – for once – underestimated the height of Gabriel's vessel. Maybe though, it isn't underestimation that causes him to stare openly at his lover's soft pink lip, but some sort of Freudian slip-up.

"You took a long time... I didn't think you were going to call." The lips move, and Sam snaps back up to the archangel's eyes, golden and full of mischief as usual; a Trickster's eyes, burning with an angel's passion. "I was debating whether to call you, or whether to..." His no doubt cruel and sardonic jibe is lost slightly as he looks more fully into Sam's face, noting the slightly teary eyes and the bitten lip. "What's wrong?" There is dread lingering unpleasantly on the edge of Gabriel's voice, and groping hands made their way up to Sam's shoulders, holding him steady, as he was swaying slightly from a bizarre mixture of relief, concern and sleep deprivation. "What's happened?"

"Your dick brothers are trying to bring my dad back to life." The misery must have seeped out through Sam's voice, because Gabriel's grip on his shoulders tightens, almost painfully. If the situation weren't so dire, then the wideness of his eyes, and the 'O' of his mouth almost would be comedic.

"Ah," he says, awkwardly, after a long moment of silence. "Well that's not ideal." Sam merely stares at him as if to say: 'no shit, Sherlock'. "But... so?"

"So? Do something!" Sam cries, his brow contracted from frustration. "Stop them or something."

"What if I ask nicely... do you think that will work?" Gabriel shoots back, quirking an irritated eyebrow. "It's none of my business, and it's staying that way." The human stares at him, incredulously, and for a moment, Gabriel almost feels guilty for his words, but quickly reels in his pointless emotions. "What? Were you under the illusion that just because we have really good sex, we'll run off into the sunset together, and live in the suburbs with a white picket and a Wheaton? Seriously Sammy, I think you need some counselling."

"Jesus, Gabriel." Sam spits, without thinking about his words, and although Gabriel's eyes darken for just a moment, he says nothing more and merely stares at Sam like he's dirt on the ground, which has dared to talk back to him. "That's not what I thought, but I thought at least that you'd make the right choice-"

"And where do my allegiances lie again? Why is it that you haven't told Dean about me? Oh yeah, it's because I'm not part of your little club." Gabriel shakes his head, almost allowing anger to show on his face, in the split second where he's so indignant that he almost loses control. "And I don't want to be. You're a good fuck, Winchester, but you're only a little human against the damn Devil. I'm not getting involved with this. Not again." His chest rises and falls rapidly, even though he knows he has no need to breathe.

Sam moves forwards, even closer to Gabriel so that their toes and chests are touching, and for once, Gabriel feels just a little intimidated.

"Don't say that you're not getting involved because you don't think we have a chance. You're not getting involved because you don't want to go back to what you used to be." Sam seethes, fists clenched in anger as he narrows his eyes at Gabriel. "You're scared to stand up to your family-"

"So? I'm still not getting involved, kid," the angel says after a long moment of heavy breathing and raised eyebrows. "If it aint my problem, why do I have to fix it?"

"Gabriel, just _please_ find out what's going on!"

"Why should I?" Pushing back, so he has no contact with the human whatsoever, Gabriel tilts his head to the side, adopting the hardened face of Loki which he had learned to live with millennia ago. "So I can get sucked up in another war?"

"So you expect me to believe that you're doing this because you don't want your brothers to suffer any more in another war?" Sam sneers, and Gabriel watches him with the face of a man without a lot of patience left in an already dried up reserve.

"I don't give a monkey's ass-crack about what you believe, Winchester, but know this: they are not my brothers; I am not an angel; they are not angels. I am not Gabriel; I am Loki, and don't forget it." He twitches his eyebrows up and down, minutely. "Especially in public."

"Fuck you." Gabriel's face splits into a grin at the vicious reply, ridiculously cheerful for the subject matter.

"You have, and you enjoyed it." Sam's stabbing hand itches to do what it did best. The only thing he hates more than the incessant war between angels, demons and Winchesters is people telling him what he wants, what he needs, or what he feels. Lucifer is constantly doing it in his sleep, and Dean is constantly doing it for him when he was awake, if subconsciously.

"If you can't help, you'd better leave." Sam says, coldly, and Gabriel shrugs, as if he has been expecting this and it does not bother him.

"Sure, but," He raises his eyebrows at Sam, leaning closer for a moment and cocking is head arrogantly to the side. "Before I do, you gonna blow me again? Last time was good; humans can't usually take much of me-" Forgetting himself, and the ineffectuality of angel-slaying with a demon-killing knife, Sam stabs jerkily towards the disturbed air where Gabriel had disappeared from. Cursing, when he does not hit anything solid, he strides over to the window, staring out of it determinedly as if expecting to see the archangel flying away.

He rubs his forehead, cursing himself again, this time internally. What else did he expect?

Gabriel was the strength of God, a general of one seventh of Heaven's armies, and was said to be the one who carried the word of God to the mortals. But this Gabriel isn't Gabriel the archangel, not anymore. This Gabriel is a broken, shivering shell of an angel, riding a Pagan's body in vain hope that his brothers will never find him, even though he knows that the fickle paradise he has constructed for himself will be turned to dust if he refuses to fight against them. This Gabriel is selfish, angry Loki with cosmic power and too much cowardice to use it for the right reasons.

And so he eats candy and he brings humans down a peg, usually with a sense of humour, pretending that the war around him isn't tearing him to pieces. He takes a human lover, one which is claimed by another angel, merely to block out what is happening around him. He smirks and giggles while he fucks up their lives, telling himself that he's doing it all to teach a lesson while he knows, deep down, that none of it means jack shit.

Sam does not claim to know how an archangel's mind works, but he knows what it feels like to ignore a part of your life which you would rather forget; to leave it all behind in the vague hope that one day, the terrible memories of things happened before will somehow vanish below a law degree and a golden retriever; he can live happily ever after. After all, Gabriel is a deserter, just like Sam.

"I thought you were different," he mutters to the room, knowing that in all probability, Gabriel can still hear him, "but you're just as much a dick as your other brothers. At least I've learned from my mistakes."

There is, predictably, no reply.

...


	4. The Masked People

_A/N ) I would just like to advise listening to 'Sigur Ros' while writing. It's great chilling out, philosophical debate going down in the cranium kind of music, and I listened to 'Takk' while writing this chapter. If you haven't already heard them, give it a go, because right now, I am sooooooo relaxed. Enya's another good one, alongside Goukisan for epic moment chapters. _

_Well... I was aiming for angry sex in this chapter... afraid it didn't really work. Ah well, can't have everything in life. In the rest of the chapter, I know, I know that it's far-fetched, but hey, it's Supernatural. I'm just using artistic licence. Well, feel free to review... I love it when you do!_

_Peace out. _

...

**Chapter Four = The Masked People**

Sam fell asleep to the sound of cars outside his motel room, and the sight of the bland, dark motel room ceiling, with faded light occasionally playing on it like fireflies in a night sky. He wakes to the sound of soft breathing beside him, and the vision of a lightening dawn seeping through the partitions in the mostly drawn curtains. Immediately, he knows who it is from the faint sweet cherry smell, and the warmth of the arm lying alongside his own.

"I didn't say you could come back." Sam doesn't care that Gabriel is making a concession to his 'not choosing sides' rule by just being there; he isn't on their side, then he's against them.

"You didn't say I could do anything, but it's not going to stop me." Rolling over, Gabriel presses his small, warm body along Sam's and the larger hunter grits his teeth, ignoring the flaring of want wheedling away his self constraint. Teeth scrape Sam's earlobe and he shivers, unable to suppress the tension which has been mounting in Gabriel's absence. Hot needy hands slip under his shirt and against bare skin, the fingertips so familiar that Sam aches to feel them against his own. "There's nothing you can do to stop me, you know that? You're only human," he murmurs in Sam's ear.

"Yeah." Sam snorts, thinking of how feeble it sounds when a creature like Gabriel says it. "Only human."

"Turn." Gabriel's voice holds boundless authority: a general's voice. Inhaling sharply, Sam obeys, thoughtlessly succumbing to the rays of Grace lulling him into throbbing arousal. They are face to face now, both wearing masks. They hide from each other as they kiss: all passion and tongues, wishing that they could give more, but knowing that they can't. They are tired of the world which hurts them, so merciless and cruel, and so they hide, behind their causes and their excuses, in plain sight of each other. They each know what the other are. They hate each other for it. But they refuse to sacrifice this connection they have, by quantifying this relationship they have, so they just keep on kissing, eyes squeezed shut and hands desperately grasping for warmth.

Gabriel climbs on top this time, surprising Sam. He is heavy, though not unbearably so, and despite the knowledge of his true nature, he feels very much just like a man. Hands remove themselves from the complexities of Sam's belt buckle to curl around his jaw, framing his face and causing him to open his eyes. Ageless, golden irises stare him down, intimidating and stronger than he has ever seen them.

"Don't over-think it, Sasquatch." He nods, ducking his head forwards to kiss Gabriel's chin, asking permission. In way of response, Gabriel stretches his neck, sliding his legs on either side of Sam's hips to straddle him, hands embedding themselves underneath the pillow above their heads. "It's what it is. Nothing less, nothing more," he whispers, by Sam's ear, and the human keens, twisting up into him in response and rubbing their chests together.

"It feels good," Sam replies, in a hiss, stealing Gabriel's mouth with short, damp kisses. A groan passes between them, and neither knows who uttered it because it is captured in their synchronised mouths, rolling between clashing tongues and echoing in their minds. This is something they can share; this is something that is theirs despite who they are, what they have been or where their allegiances lie. Here, what is Sam's is Gabriel's, and what is Gabriel's is Sam's.

Licking up and down hot, smooth skin of Gabriel's neck, Sam knows something is happening between them, bar the obvious. The soothing familiarity of Gabriel's hands beneath his shirt, pressing hard into his chest, is not as it was before. Yes, it is sexual, but that is secondary. Sam feels the anger, the frustration and the sadness break loose from their tethers, and evaporate from his eyes through tears of relief.

Gabriel must know that he is crying, but he says nothing of it, instead removing both of their clothes with a subtle click of his fingers.

Suddenly, Sam rolls away from him and sits up on the edge of the motel bed with one smooth movement, placing his head in his hands with elbows digging uncomfortably into his knees. The shocking cold he feels when he broke contact with Gabriel knocks the breath from him, and he wipes his eyes subtly, inhaling deeply.

Even the air he needs to breathe tastes like Gabriel.

The archangel presses his face into the back of Sam's head, coming up behind him to place his knees on either side of his hips, and his hands lightly on his shoulder blades.

"If you were an angel," Gabriel begins, break coming in pants, "This is where your wings would be." His hands press harder, and Sam breaks into desperate sobs, mourning his lost faith, his lost innocence and his lost loved ones. His mother, Jess, his father. Most of all, his father. From now on, things can only become worse, pushing him into a downwards spiral. He cannot turn to Dean; Dean's not strong enough to hold them both up alone. He's barely keeping himself upright with Castiel supporting him. No, Sam has no one this time, like he had Ruby before. The hands on his back are the only things which are keeping him sane, and it's so ironic that he laughs.

Gabriel does not ask why he is laughing, but neither does he ask why he was crying, instead merely smoothing his hands up and down the rises and falls between the muscles on his back, whispering in broken, breathy Enochian.

"If you were an angel, you wouldn't have this choice. You wouldn't have free will to guide you." Something wet touches to the nape of his neck, and Sam whines, letting his head fall backwards the exposed skin can be lapped at by the lithe tongue belonging to the massaging hands. "You wouldn't have to make these choices. You would follow orders, and you wouldn't be you, anymore, you'd be Lucifer." He sounds bitter.

Sam nearly chokes on his own tears.

"Turn around, Sammy," the smooth, golden voice tells him, and Sam obeys thoughtlessly, numb from the pain his chest is crackling with. "Good boy, Sammy." Clambering back over Gabriel, neither angel nor human takes the moment to analyse the ease with which they settle in that position of Sam's dominance, with Gabriel's legs wrapped loosely around his hips. Sam is slow to push into his body, allowing his lover time he doesn't need, to adjust to the burn. Gabriel whines; he isn't using his Grace to mask the pain, and he doesn't want the pain anymore, not like last time. He finds that just having Sam is enough tonight.

Sam is crying loudly now, completely unashamed of himself, and the soulful sound grates on Gabriel, eroding down his mask until tears fall from his eyes too. He grabs Sam's shoulders, tight enough to bruise, and holds on as they rock, steadily, creeping slowly forwards until they're so close they can taste euphoria in the air. It's a sign of how much of their damaged hearts are left that they are able to forget the rest of the world, and trust in each other just enough to fall closer and closer together, sobbing for those things that they lost.

Gabriel cries out first, incandescent with Grace, clutching onto his human lover with a vice like grip as he shoots thick white jets of cum between their burning bodies. Head bowed, tears no longer falling but blood gathering on his bottom lip, Sam works faster, following him wordlessly, with one last whine, and collapsing against the archangel on the creaking mattress.

Breath comes in unruly, uncontrollable pants, partly out of pure exhaustion and undoing, but mostly out of sorrow. Huffing against Gabriel's neck, Sam calms slightly, as a strong hand smoothes across his head, holding it tight against the warm body he has just claimed.

They are face to face again, still wearing masks, which hide nothing.

Sleep takes Sam then, and the hand fades from existence, the only proof it was ever there being the rapidly drying fluid on Sam's chest, and the cooling peace marring the desolation in his soul.

...

He awakes, to the disappointing lack of Gabriel, six hours later to a knock on the door of his motel room. Marvelling at how long the Devil hasallowed him to sleep, Sam reaches for his pants, pulling a shirt over the evidence of the archangel's visit before calling towards the door.

"Just a minute."

"Sam, get packed up, we're going to Lawrence." Dean's gruff voice rings through the thin wood, and Sam freezes, uncertain what to make of this.

"Why Lawrence?" Hoping valiantly that it is just another hunt, Sam moves towards the door, opening it to find the concerned, bordering on desperate face of his brother.

"Because that's where Dad was born." Frowning, Sam opens his mouth, but Dean cuts him off again. "Listen, I'll explain in the car. Our estimated time of departure is as soon as you can get out your ass out here." Looking behind him furtively, Dean leans forward slightly. "And no, Cas can't zap us. He's kinda tired." Understanding, Sam nods, and retreats into the motel room.

He stares into the mirror, sparing himself a moment to flash his mind back to the night before, and then he splashes his face with cold water, using a washcloth to wipe his stomach and chest. They are going back to Lawrence; back to where it all began. What does that even mean? Is his father going to be Michael's vessel after all?

Sighing, he grabs all of the essentials, stuffing them into a duffel bag without his normal neatness, and pays at the front desk before hurrying to the Impala, angling into the passenger's seat. As soon as he closes the door, Dean is off, driving twice the speed limit as usual, and overtaking a police car which thankfully seems to be off-duty.

"Right, so explain." Sam barks, halfway down the main road when he's finally arranged himself enough to put his seatbelt on and chuck his duffel in the back seat, next to a sleepy looking Castiel, who does not so much as blink to the invasion. "Why are we going to Dad's birthplace?"

"Because his body was destroyed, and therefore, another body needs to be constructed before it can be inhabited with the soul. If the body is not genetically identical to the body of the soul first, then it cannot be used, and an angel cannot construct a body without a basis." Castiel explains, monotone, unaware that nothing he said made any sense whatsoever to Sam. "So, the final resting place of your father is useless, because ashes are burned, they cannot be restored."

"So what can be restored?"

"The bones of your grandparents lie in Stull Cemetery, in Lawrence, Kansas. I assume that Zachariah intends to use their genetic material to construct a body identical to your father's." Dean's grip on the steering wheel, and his upper lip twitched in contempt. "Since it is not exact, they will have to try a few times before they can accurately create-"

"Like experiments?" Sam interrupts, horrified. Hanging his head, exhausted and ashamed, Cas mutters a barely audible affirmative.

"The only good news is that we may arrive in time to stop them. Constructing a human takes time for angels; we're not meant to create, merely to keep." Glumly, Castiel curls up his legs onto the car seat, pulling his trench coat around himself in the chilly drought the backseat sometimes got, and Dean had never been able to remedy. "We may arrive in time," he whispers again, and Sam is momentarily worried about his mental welfare.

"So, when did you guys come up with this theory?" Dean shrugs in reply, mouth still tightly pursed, in anger.

"Cas," he mutters, shortly, as if it explains everything.

"Last night, I dreamed of an old memory, one which I had forgotten. I remembered when we had done this once before; a vessel for Raphael a long time ago." At the sound of Raphael's name, Dean speeds up steadily, taking the corner hard and nearly giving his brother a heart attack. Holding on for dear life, Sam stares at Castiel in his rear-view mirror, eyebrows contracted.

"A memory?"

"Of when I was connected with Heaven, when all of our memories were as one. It was someone else's memory, though distinctly real." Castiel explains, and Sam glances sideways, out of the window at the landscape moving past fast enough to make him dizzy.

"Are you sure that this isn't a trap?" Dean snorts, and both Sam and Castiel look at him, surprised.

"Sam, if it's not a trap and we don't go?" he poses the question, and Sam sighs, scrubbing one hand over his face.

"Point taken," he concedes, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'll call Bobby, Rufus, Ellen; anyone else we can think of. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly." Not objecting, Dean throws his phone back towards Castiel, instructing him to call Bobby while Sam handles the rest.

Dialling their last known number for Ellen and Jo, Sam notes grimly that even Castiel is starting to look worried.

...

Stull Cemetery is the kind of place Sam expected to see in an old Transylvanian movie, with tall, imposing and presently ironic angelic gravestones and moss covered crosses.

Castiel, having conserved enough energy to mask their presence from the angelic radar beeping all over the place, leads them in a weaving path through the graveyard. Behind Dean, Jo reaches forwards and grasps at the back of his jacket, steering him forcefully around a broken bottle, no doubt left there by teenagers, and he offers her a wide, grateful smile. Ellen nudges Dean menacingly with the front of her shotgun, and appears amused by the speed at which he moves away from her daughter. Next to Sam, Bobby risks a breath of a whisper.

"Where the Hell are we going?" Sam replies with a shrug, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement which isn't caused by their hunter clan.

"Cas knows what he's doing, I'm hoping." They had reconvened at the nearest motel, waiting a minimum of the twenty more minutes it took for Ellen and Jo to arrive before packing up with every weapon that was remotely likely to injure or even give an angel a paper cut and moving out to the cemetery, grimly determined.

Silently as they can, the group of human hunters move across the dusty, crumbling grounds, alongside their angel, towards the graves of Tom and Alicia Winchester, who were buried side by side. The graves grow larger as they walk further into the dark graveyard, Ellen, Jo and Bobby splitting away into a separate group which will lag behind, still in sight, but watching their backs.

The nearby gravestones are tilted, all pointing in the direction they have come, like an invisible force has exploded, forcing them to uproot. Something cosmic is happening, both Sam and Dean know it, and a few seconds after they cast worried glances in the other's direction, barely visible through the darkness, a light blasts up ahead, accompanied by the sound which can only be described as an angel's true voice; there is nothing else truly like it. Instinctively, every single hunter ducks, Dean grabbing Castiel's trench coat and pulling him down on top of his body behind a large gravestone for cover.

Breathing heavily, Sam nods to Dean and he moves out, feet padding on the black soil beneath their feet without a sound. There is a deafening crack, which to any other human would sound like thunder, and all except Castiel cover their ears, wincing.

"Zachariah." Castiel whispers, loud enough for them all to hear, but to no one in particular. Dean leans closer to him, whispering with words that Sam can't hear, but are no doubt offensive to the archangel in question.

"How many?" Sam hears Dean ask, and Castiel murmur his reply, distracted by the now continuous light, flickering up ahead, and Sam doesn't necessarily want to hear Castiel's numeric reply. The rest of the hunters no longer need him as their guide; they can see which way they are meant to go.

The darkness is fading fast now, replaced with the not so distant light of archangels, and Castiel draws ahead of Sam and Dean with grim determination on his face. Instead of lurking around gravestones, he moves towards the light boldly, and Sam catches on. This is not Castiel's courage raising its prideful head; the angels must already know that they are there. Following trustingly, Sam and Dean flank Castiel like human bodyguards, as they make their way towards the light.

"Zachariah!" Castiel screams, and there is an edge of his unearthliness which rings through Sam's head and makes him see stars. Checking himself, Castiel continues in his vessel's voice. "Zachariah, what makes you think you have the right to do this?" The suited man lounges against a large, rusting statue of an iron angel, laughing, no doubt at the irony.

"Ah, Castiel and the apocalyptic duo." He says, wryly, giving Dean the once over and ignoring Sam completely. "I was wondering when you'd show up. This was as much a trap for you as it was for your daddy." Disbelievingly, Dean shakes his head, and Sam draws level with Castiel, frowning at Zachariah. They continue to walk, past, Zachariah, towards the rapidly fading light, where voices can now be heard, though words and identities were still indistinguishable. There is a flicker, and the archangel appears directly in front of them, forcing them to halt with his hands extended in front of him.

"Sorry kids, no can do. This is a no man zone." Passing his eyes quickly over Castiel, he smirks. "Wow, you've really done well for yourself, little brother," he remarks, scathingly, and fists ball under heavy tan sleeves.

"Get out of our way, Zachariah," Sam barks, and although Dean is surprised at how much authority his little brother has in his tone, he does not show it. All Sam can see is the light, coming and going, and he knows his father is in the middle of it all, suffering. And he needs to stop it.

"Now, asshat," Dean adds, vehemently, taking a warning step forwards, but the angel doesn't move, merely spreads his arms wide and adopts a 'sorry dude' expression which annoys the fuck out of all three of them.

"No point now, daddy Winchester's alive and kicking, soul and body in all. And none of those old battle scars, either, or the trick knee. This is John Winchester, 2.0, and he's all ours to play with."

"Get the fuck out of our way, Zachariah, or we will burn through you." Sam steps forwards, and Dean itches to move with him, to protect his little brother, but he stays put, hoping that the play would work. With a flick of an index finger, the Winchesters are crushed against the angel statue, twisting as they and Castiel are pushed into an uncomfortably small amount of space. "Our dad will never say yes to you SOBs." Sam snarls, and he's seeing red, like when the demon blood asks him to kill. This bastard is dead because no one fucks with a Winchester and survives.

"Oh yes? And why's that?" Castiel answers for them, oddly calm with his head cocked to the side. Dean feels movement against the back of his thigh, of something cold slipping down out of Castiel's sleeve, and he smirks slightly.

"Because if he's half the man that his son is, then he'll tell you to go to Hell." Zachariah hums, in mock contemplation.

"He has said that a couple of times..." He pops a finger into the air, grinning obnoxiously. "You know what? I've just had an idea how to change his-" Within seconds, Castiel has disappeared from his hold against the archangel with a ear splitting cry of pain, and has crossed the space between them, plunging his archangel's blade deep into Zachariah's chest.

"Despite what Dean thinks," Castiel begins, leaning in towards his brother, tense with vindication, "my batteries aren't completely dead." A pillar of light, originating from the dying archangel's eyes and wide, shocked mouth, erupts into the sky, the resulting scream smashing into their eardrums with astounding force.

Crickets sound, and even the light from the nearby clearing of massacred graves is no longer shining.

"Don't piss off the nerd angels." Dean mutters, and Sam huffs a silent laugh, nodding in response. "I am disappointed though; I was going to gank that mother myself." Grabbing his brother's shoulder, Dean jogs away into the darkness, eyes still seeing spots. "Come on, the backup must have noticed something's wrong."

When they enter the clearing between the tall, toppled graves, Ellen Jo and Bobby join them a moment later, Bobby stepping proudly over Zachariah's prone form while the women skirt around it warily. They have never come into contact with angels before, and even the dead ones make them wary. Sam spots a dozen or so naked bodies, all of a similar build, lying between crumbled stones. It looks as though a bomb has gone off, directly between the headstones, part of which – lying on the ground near Dean's foot – reads 'chester', and is clearly ground zero for the angelic experimentation.

Frantically looking around, the breath catches in Sam's throat as he sees that one of the bodies is still moving.

"Dad." He hears Dean breathe a choked and needy breath, before sprinting towards his father, forgetting danger and running straight through unguarded land. Nearby, Bobby curses in worry, craning his neck to see around the graves as Sam follows his brother, landing by his father's side seconds later. Miraculously, no white lights or haemorrhaging occurs, and the only supernatural thing in that moment was his father, very much alive, grasping as his arm with tears rolling down his face. Dean has dropped to John's stomach, ignoring the childish nature of his actions as he pressed his face into John's chest, eyes squeezed shut.

It hurts that Sam has almost forgotten what his father looks like.

Suddenly very aware of a pistol near his shoulder, Sam straightens in shock before relaxing, realising that it is just Ellen, staring down at John with mixed terror and relief. There is another flash of tan in his peripheral vision, and Castiel stands above Dean, before kneeling in front of John.

"Dean, there are more angels coming. I can sense them." Dean mutters something incoherent into his father, who snorts and barks something which sounds like a garbled order to pull himself together.

"Can you transport us?" Castiel hung his head, unwilling to look at Dean.

"I cannot carry passengers... not far. I used up a great deal of my energy masking our presence, and killing Zachariah." Dean swallows, grabbing the front of his coat with desperation unfamiliar to Dean's body.

"Even Dad? Just to the car?" With a great deal of concentration, Castiel reaches forwards for John's forehead, the older man barely having time to open his mouth in confused protest, before, they both disappear. A strangled sob escapes Sam, and he looks up at Dean, who has a wide smile on his face, and dampness under his eyes. "Let's get going." Standing up, he had just enough time to push past Ellen and stride in front of Jo before he stopped suddenly, reaching back and pulling a pistol out of his waistband. There, beside the prone figure of Zachariah, and standing in the blackened wake of where his wings fell, stands a man in a suit.

"An angel, presumably," Jo asks, uncertainly moving towards her mother, who immediately stood in front of her, like any other mother protecting her young would.

"Yeah, a freakin' glow in the dark angel." Dean mutters, bitterly, glancing around the rest of the clearing. "And he's not alone." He hears the safety being taken off of Sam and Bobby's guns, as they point towards the offending reinforcements. "How many?"

"I can see thr- four. No, six. Shit Dean, they're coming from all over the place." The angels do not advance, they merely stand, staring intently at the Winchesters, as if waiting for orders.

"Alright, everyone relax. Ellen, Jo, remember what we talked about?" Ellen snorts, as Jo makes a groaning noise in the back of her throat.

"You mean the part about angels being damn near impossible to kill?" Dean chuckles, dryly.

"Yeah, that part. Fire on my signal." Sam and Bobby exchange awkward looks, as they all point their pistols at the angels surrounding them.

"You sure this is gonna work, boy?" Bobby calls, warily. "Because if it don't, we're gonna have one serious conversation about your tactical skills."

"Shut it Singer. The boy's a Winchester; he knows what he's doing." Ellen snaps, throwing a wink in Bobby's direction. Bobby returns it with a half smile, trying not to take his eyes off of the angels. The man next to Zachariah moves forwards, yet the others stay still, and he walks towards Dean's pistol.

"Dean, come with us quietly. If you accept Michael as your vessel, you will not be harmed." His eyes fall to the pistol. "And you cannot hurt us with your earthly weapons. Come with us, and none of your friends will be harmed. Not even your brother." Dean's grip on the pistol tightens, and Sam evaluates just how many angels he'd like to kill for making him sound like bait.

"You know what I think about accepting Michael?" Dean asks, raising his eyebrows. The angel's slight frown deepens, suspiciously.

"What?"

The shot rings out through the clearing, boring straight through the angel's forehead and encompassing them all in a wave of bright, white light. Uncovering his eyes, after the light has dimmed, Sam chances a look over his shoulder, to see that the angel has disappeared. A long silence follows, in which the remaining angels turn to each other, confused by the turn of events. Dean laughs, triumphantly.

"Enochian warding symbols on the bullets, Sam. Nice idea." He calls, raising his pistol once more, his sights flickering between the two angels standing in front of him.

"I believe you called it 'cute' and said that it wouldn't work." Sam calls back, glad beyond all culpable words that his plan had worked. God knows that it had been a long shot, and it probably won't even last for that long.

"I believe that you owe me a twenty, Dean." Jo adds, smugly, from her position beside Ellen, who snorts her approval. "Uh... are there more of them arriving?" Jo is right, Sam realises with a jolt, as more angels materialise in front of them, forming a solid concentric circle of twenty angels or so, rapidly turning to thirty. Their ring of five just isn't quite as impressive, and they move automatically backwards, cursing while trying desperately to think their way out of the situation.

"I think this is a 'fire at will' kind of situation here, kids." Ellen calls, and Dean yells his approval, letting of another shot as a nearby woman in a blouse and pencil skirt takes a step forwards, clearly having been promoted to the new speaker of the house.

"I can't believe you idjits got me killed." Bobby groans, letting off two perfectly aimed shots of his own. "They're moving forwards. Where's your angel when we need him?" Ignoring Dean's protest that Castiel was not _his_ angel, Sam aims carefully, shooting what looks like a bodybuilder in a plain black suit through the face. Okay, so maybe there is a little more anger in there than there should be; but the bastards brought their dad back to life.

Determinedly, Sam doesn't look at the failed, familiar bodies lying on the ground, knowing that he will only lose his concentration if he does. It doesn't matter now, anyway. They've saved his dad. They've won.

A single word, shouted in Enochian, and the dozens of angels begin to march forwards, their feet disturbingly silent on the graveyard ground. Shots fire all around them, and while most of them work, and the angels vanish in a blinding moment of white light, some of them don't, and only serve to piss them off.

And through all of it, all that Sam can bring himself to think about is the hands on his shoulder blades, and for that split second before light overcomes them all, he has the completely inappropriately timed thought: what would it really be like to have wings?

...


	5. Candy Floss

_**I know, and I'm sorry; I left you on a cliff-hanger last time... but let's be honest, I'm sure you all saw this next part coming. I'm really grateful to all who reviewed, I really enjoyed having this escape from the exam stress I am currently dying from, and your feedback really helped my breathing exercises. **_

_**Peace out. **_

...

Recap:

***_And through all of it, however dire, all that Sam can bring himself to think about is Gabriel's hands on his shoulder blades, and for that split second before light overcomes them all, he has the completely inappropriately timed thought: what would it really be like to have wings?_***

Chapter Five = Candy floss

The wind is unbearably strong, and it feels like it's going to pick them up and throw them away, as the humans huddle in a tight circle, the light of the advancing angels so strong it is blackening the darkness of the graveyard. Sam hears someone shouting, and he thinks it might be Dean, but everything is so loud, shrieking fills the air as the angels speak, warning them; threatening them; Sam doesn't know which, but it's just too loud.

Then, the world dims, and for a fraction of a second, something else fills his senses, so out of the blue that it shocks him into silence, and falling to his knees, helpless and crushed by the force of the angels' screams, he tries to process why the world suddenly smells like candy floss.

Past the whipping of the wind, and the clamouring hands of burning Grace, two distinctly defined hands rest on his shoulder blades, their palms hotter and more real than the world around him. Everything else is whirling faster, spinning around and crushing his senses so he can't see, he can't hear and all he can do is focus on those hands, tightly pressed into the back of his jacket, and burning hot against his skin. Everything and everyone else is far away, and even the angels are drowned out by the heavy, slow beating of a heart which isn't his.

Trembling, head bowed against the strain of the elements, Sam knows he can never have wings; he is as far from angelic as a demon is. But he also knows that it doesn't matter, because he would imagine that this would be kind of like having wings; feelings everything fade behind the world that he could move through faultlessly, unstoppable and fluid. He doesn't need wings when he has someone to fly for him.

He doesn't need wings when he can feel Gabriel's.

...

Sam doesn't know what happens next, but within moments too fragmented for proper counting, he finds himself on a different ground, the hands on his back still very present, but the elements around him changed. Now, the air is still, and there is no noise around them. The hands withdraw, as though burned, and Sam twists around, to see nothing behind him, except four other prone bodies, lying next to their pistols on the motel room floor.

"Dean!" With a yelp, Dean awakes, conditioned to the danger cry of his little brother, and looks with wide eyes around the room, brandishing his pistol almost comically.

"What the hell happened?" Struggling, he pushes himself upright, nursing his shoulder, before leaning over to nudge Jo carefully, and when she doesn't wake, check her pulse with panic in his eyes. Relaxing visibly, he hauls himself upright, staggering over to the window, moving the curtains slightly to look outside.

"Boys?" The deep voice of Ellen, breathy as though she's broken something, comes from behind Sam, and he twists, sharply, relieved that she is alright. "Now I did not sign up for- Jo!" Bobby was already by Jo's side, gingerly lifting her onto the bed, and cleaning some of the blood from the side of her face with the edge of the bed sheet.

"She's okay. The angel's voices hurt like a bitch, but apart from some temporary hearing damage, I'm sure she'll be fine." Staggering, Ellen joins Bobby, lowering her voice while Sam rises to talk to his brother. The parking lot is silent, and Dean is staring out as though he's frozen on the spot, terrified.

"They're not here." He sounds broken, and for a moment Sam considers pulling him into a hug, but knew better than to comfort his brother as such. Instead, he also turns his eyes to the parking lot, searching in vain for a black 67' Chevy Impala. "The angels must have transported us here, after getting at Dad."

"No, Dean, it was-" Sam cuts off short, at an astounding sound distinguishable from the relative silence of the night.

It is the rumbling of a black 67' Chevy Impala, and it's growing louder. Tensing, Dean watches in disbelief as headlamps light up the opening into the motel car park, followed by a black, sleek body. Making an unintelligible noise, he darts towards the door, wrenching it open – even though it is locked from the outside – and sprinting out to meet it, Sam close on his heels. Bobby appears in the doorway to the room, surveying the scene with uncharacteristic optimism.

The headlights cut off as Dean reaches the driver's door and he wrenches it open to expose his father, now with a blanket wrapped around his waist as a makeshift kilt. Painfully, John Winchester levers his bruised and uncomfortable body out of the car, unused to being corporeal again, only to be mauled by both of his sons, immediately clamouring for his attention.

Angrily, he waves them away, giving them a look which would make a General cry.

"Now we're going to go over exactly what happened out there, right after you tell me who – and what – that thing is." He points to the back seat of the Impala, where Castiel is lying limply, eyes closed. Cursing, Dean opens the door and dives in, leaning over the angel and patting him on the face, to wake him up. When nothing works, he gathers the smaller form in his arms, dragging him out of the car, and picking him up like a baby.

Still staring, completely speechless, at his father, Sam closes the back door of the Impala as Dean moves away with the unconscious angel, followed by John, and throws one last look around the car park, hoping to see Gabriel. He knows that it was him who flew them to safety, but equally, he knows that Gabriel still doesn't want to take sides.

Sighing, and sniffing the air, Sam shakes his head and follows his brother and his father inside, wishing that he could smell candy floss again.

...

Jo is awake when they arrive inside, and although she looks dazed, she doesn't complain, merely silently takes in the reunion of Ellen and John, which is fond, and the reunion of John and Bobby, which is downright tense. She smiles when he nods in her direction, but says and does nothing more, quietly analysing from Sam's bed.

Dean is in the corner, attending to Castiel, and every few seconds looking up sharply in John's direction as if to check if he is still there, so Sam stands forwards, eyes wide, to take in the sight of his father, who has now adopted some of Dean's clothing, which in all fairness used to be his anyway. Sam doesn't know if it's his imagination or not, but he thinks John looks younger than he did when he died.

"Sam, who is that guy?" Motioning towards Castiel, John keeps his voice down, and Sam runs a hand through his hair.

"The resident angel. He's a good guy though." Not looking convinced, John stares at the interaction between his son and the angel with narrowed eyes. "You didn't say yes." It is not a question, merely a prompt.

"No, I didn't." Turning his eyes back to his youngest son, John smiles slightly. "And now I'm glad I didn't."

"Yeah, you and me both." Sam mutters, and thrusts his hands in his pockets. "You need to sit down?" There is that angry look again, so Sam takes it as a no. "Right."

"What's happened since I... since I died." John asks, looking around himself and catching the shocked and slightly guilty look which his sons share. "Boys?"

"In that case, Dad, you really _should_ sit down." Sam advises, rubbing the back of his neck as he moves to sit down in front of Jo on his bed. "And it's kind of a long story."

"Son, do I look like I'm going anywhere?" Swallowing, Sam smiles a strained smile in concession. "Start where I left off."

"Well," Dean begins, casually, wandering over to where they were both sitting, and taking up his place next to Sam. "After we killed Yellow-Eyes... First, Sammy died, so I made a deal and brought him back. I went to Hell. I came _back_ from Hell. Sam raised the Devil by accident, and here we are, waiting to be angel condoms for the biggest dicks in angelic history." There is a slapping noise behind them, and Sam is pretty sure that Bobby just face-palmed.

Something in John's face twitches, and the Winchester brothers are certain that it isn't his mouth moving into an accepting smile.

...

_**So... yeah. I know, I miss Gabriel too. But, there you go. It's an update, and that's going to have to do until the end of exams... higher English in two days. So, review and be nice, and I'd love to hear suggestions as to where this story is going. I know where I want it to go... but you know. Readers come first and all that. =D**_


	6. Avoidance Behavior

_**I know, I haven't updated in a while... well actually I have no concept of time at the moment, so there's really no telling, but rather I feel like I haven't updated in a while. Exams est fini, so take that. Now I have a lot of time to write... something my mother was displeased to hear. Ah, if she knew I was writing gay porn about an angel... she already thinks that Supernatural is too blasphemous for me to watch. **_

_**So, I have tried to appease my mounting excitement for the summer with this lovely chapter... got some character development, tiny bit of plot development... and a lot of Gabriel – all that I need for a good time. Enjoy! =D**_

_**-Em x**_

_**...**_

Chapter Six: Avoidance Behavior

Sam is eternally grateful that he is able to escape the cacophony of dirty comments and blatant displays of rage, although he only gets as far as the car park before he is assaulted by two hands which grab his upper arms and spin him away from his chosen route, guiding him towards a motel room a few down from the one his brother and his father were battling it out in, with onlookers too wary to intervene. He knows that it is Gabriel, from the angle of the assailant's grip and the strength behind the hands. So, trustingly, he allows his lover to guide him into an empty room and throw him onto the bed in the darkness, waiting for the smaller body to fall on top of his own.

It doesn't, and he finds himself sitting up, his eyes scanning in the darkness, foreboding beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach. He had thought it was Gabriel.

"Gabriel?" Slowly, his eyes adjust to the dark, and he sees a figure, with his back turned at the doorway. He sees the shape of a bomber jacket, and is persuaded by the height of the figure. It is definitely Gabriel. "Turn on a light, would you?" The figure turns, and within moments, is next to him, pushing up tightly against his chest.

"I like the dark. It gives everything an air of mystery." Gabriel's voice is slightly muffled by his shoulder, and, not thinking, Sam gathers him closer, blinking rapidly as he tries to adjust to the blackness faster.

"Well I don't. Turn the light on."

"You turn the light on." Upon attempting to stand, he realizes that it is ambitious, and Gabriel is a lot heavier than he looks, no doubt weighing himself down with his Grace.

"Gabriel!" He isn't ashamed to say that he whined, annoyed at the difficultly of the creature now curled up on his knees, and pressing hard onto his chest so that it was difficult to stay upright, testing his abdominal muscles as he fought not to be bowled over backwards by Gabriel's weight.

"It's all the way over there." Getting slowly more pissed with the archangel's stubborn attitude, Sam growls into the top of his head.

"Gabriel, you can create alternate realities, force people to do what you want, and snap pretty much anything into existence. I think you can handle turning on a light switch, six feet away from you." A thought dawns on Sam, and he pulls away from the body clambering on his lap. "What don't you want me to see?" The reply comes quickly; too quickly.

"Nothing, Sammy. I just like the dark." A mouth finds his earlobe, in a faint-hearted attempt to distract Sam, but the human was not distracted, and pushed him off heavily. Stumbling away, Gabriel became the figure in the darkness again, and although Sam's body mourns the contact, there are more important things at hand. Like why the Hell the angel is acting so weird all of a sudden, followed by the omnipresent elephant in the room, trumpeting loudly about how Gabriel was the hero to his damsel in distress earlier that night.

"No, you don't. You like to look." Silence follows, and Sam's straining eyes pick out the telltale rising of a hand, signalling an imminent snap. Light flooded the room, intensely bright in a way which the cheap motel is unlikely to be culpable for. It takes a few seconds for Sam to adjust to the sudden light, but no time at all to see what Gabriel does not want him to. "Oh God." Golden eyes narrow at him, and an accusatory finger points directly at his chest.

"Don't pity me, Sam." The authority in his voice is hard to argue with, but Sam can't help but feel a tiny twinge of sympathy.

"Did this happen earlier?" Reaching out for the blackened tissue on the side of Gabriel's face, Sam isn't surprised when his hand is batted away, angrily.

"Yes." Gabriel throws his hands in the air, angry, and winces at the movement. "Raphael was faster than I thought he would be. Since it was the Healing power of Heaven who did this to me, it's going to take a while to wear off." He's pissed, and Sam can understand why. Blackened burns, raw and painful, were spread out along his right side, like a burning claw had reached out and grabbed his body, marking him. For a small, irrational moment, Sam is angry that something other than him has marked Gabriel, and he wants everyone to know that he's Sam's. Then, he comes to his senses and reaches out, this time not to touch Gabriel's injury, but instead to take his uninjured hand.

With a quick tug, he pulls the archangel over to sit on the bed next to him, and limply, Gabriel complies. He looks exhausted, eyelids drooping, and he rests his head on Sam's shoulder as soon as he gets the chance. Carefully as he can, Sam slips an arm around the archangel, holding him tighter against his side, and Gabriel does not complain, merely mewling slightly in pain as the contact puts pressure on his wounds.

"Raphael is the healing power of Heaven?" Sam asks, softly, and he nods, forehead heavy on Sam's shoulder.

"Raphael was always the Healer. That's why he was there, bringing back your father. He is the only one capable of actually creating a human being out of just genetic material. Oh, and by the way, don't expect your daddy's body to be the way that it used to be. Details are impossible to get from genetic material alone." Although his father looked rather similar to Sam, Sam nods his understanding, caressing Gabriel's shoulder thoughtlessly with one hand, the other lying pointlessly on his lap. "It just had to be close enough to coax the soul back in."

"Raphael did this to you?"

"I couldn't be in my true form, otherwise you guys would be toastier than burnt toast, so when I shielded you from those angels, Raphael took the chance to try and destroy my vessel." Curling his feet up onto the bed, Gabriel turns to face Sam, and when he does so, he is met by worried hazel eyes. "But you're all safe. I have disguised your presence from all other angels, including myself and Castiel. Even the car's not on the angelic radar, because otherwise you guys are kind of screwed. There's no way that Dean-o's mentally sound enough to see the apocalypse out without his baby. Or his baby brother, for that matter." Sam ignores how Gabriel is beginning to ramble, his words slurred yet distinguishable, and frowned at his injuries.

"Are they supposed to be doing that?" Gabriel blinks, surprised, before realizing that Sam's referring to the way that his skin is trying to knit itself back together, shifting as new cells try to multiply beneath the dead, scarred tissue. The archangel turns his face away, as though he is ashamed.

"My Grace is trying to heal my body, and it'll eventually get there." He doesn't look back at Sam. "It's kind of gross."

"Yeah," Sam admits, leaning in for a closer look. "But it's also kind of fascinating." The look on Gabriel's face is a slash between hurt and amusement; he is too tired and sore to care about masking his emotions.

"You're kind of a nerd," he shoots back, with a slight smirk. "Don't tell your brother about what happened earlier." Frowning, Sam turns his body, so he can look at Gabriel more clearly.

"He's going to start asking questions. And about that... I thought you weren't taking sides." The amusement is suddenly gone from Gabriel's golden eyes, and they turn into hard marble.

"I'm not," he snaps, irritably. "The only reason I was there today is because I owe your brother. He let me out of the holy fire, I couldn't just leave you in a ring of my brothers..." For a long moment, Sam stares, and is rewarded with a scowl as Gabriel realizes that Sam didn't buy his excuse for a second.

"You did that for me?"

"Stop getting all soppy. I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand. I didn't... I didn't know that there were so many other angels there, or what was going on with your dad until afterwards. I just thought that... you know." Gabriel finishes, lamely, and Sam closes the distance between them, kissing him fiercely. The archangel yelps, and mutters something no doubt sarcastic in a reply which fades into a moan as Sam forces his tongue into his mouth.

A whole minute later, breathless, Sam pulls away, much to Gabriel's displeasure, and reaches up to grab the back of his lover's neck, panting slightly.

"T-Thanks." Swallowing, hard, Sam presses his cheek against Gabriel's, eyes squeezed shut. "Really, thanks." A hand massages him gently through the front of his jeans, and his head drops to Gabriel's uninjured shoulder, breath coming harder and faster. Pent up frustration and annoyance and angst at the past few hours cumulate in a huge sigh which escapes him. The speed of Gabriel's hand increases, and he growls, deep and sensual, into the soft skin of the archangel's neck. "Good," he finally manages to groan, and although the hand falters slightly, he feels Gabriel's body shaking at the implications of his words, and vibrating with silent energy.

Pulling away, he moves to kiss Gabriel again, before he stops, realizing that the burns are more extensive than he thought. Sensing his hesitation, Gabriel pulls his hand away as if he's been bitten, lip curling slightly.

"If I weren't so drained, I'd make myself more appealing, to look more worthy of your distinguished presence." The angel snarls, viciously, and Sam flushes, immediately angry that Gabriel thought so lowly of him.

"It's not that, man, I just..." Awkwardly, Sam turns his head away, and Gabriel watches him through hardened eyes, the same ones he watched him with when he was in that warehouse, surrounded by a ring of holy fire. "Will this hurt you?" Gabriel gives him a look as if to say 'duh', but says nothing. Immediately, Sam moves back, picking himself off of the bed and trying to ignore how far Gabriel's body follows him before leaning back again, as though some magnetism is keeping them close. "Maybe you should sleep or something, to make you heal faster." The look which the angel shoots Sam is less than amused.

"Yeah, because angels have the capacity to sleep." The dark sarcasm is back, though without a hint of the usual Trickster amusement. His voice is dry, and tired, and full of pain which Sam knows is on him. "But as soon as we evolve, I will get to that."

"Castiel is sleeping next door." Gabriel makes an obnoxious erring sound, like a game show buzzer, still watching Sam without signs of looking away.

"No, Castiel is _unconscious_ next door. He used his Grace, which is so worn out that it's practically non-existent... which means that he's falling faster and faster. I'm pretty sure he'll be dead before you figure this whole apocalypse thing out." Gabriel says casually, and Sam doesn't know if he's being so nonchalant because he's trying to get a rise out of him, or just because he's a dick. "He can't even sense that I'm here." He snorts. "And I can hardly mask my presence from anything right now."

"Don't talk about Cas like he's expendable." Sam growls, bulking shoulders tense. "He's not."

"Yeah, yeah." Gabriel leans forwards, still watching Sam with those intense golden eyes, and he looks eerily serious for a moment. Unconsciously, Sam charts out the damage that Raphael did to Gabriel, his mind unfocussed when he realizes that a miniscule patch, which he had seen before, trying to heal, is now soft, new, human skin. The archangel's honeyed tones have been crystallized, and cut out sharply across the motel room in a way which they usually don't. "So are you going to fuck me or not?" His head snapping up from where it had fallen to face the ground, Sam swears that he sees a dark look flit across Gabriel's eyes, but he can't quite measure what it is.

"You're injured." Sam says, but it seems to make no difference in Gabriel's state of mind. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Now that's just precious." The archangel mutters, summoning up enough strength to smirk cruelly at the human. "How very noble of you, Prince Charming. You didn't have a problem with it not long ago."

"You wanted it then-"

"I want it now." He replies, calmly, still staring in a way which is so unnerving, Sam is starting to fidget, apprehensive and annoyed at the same time.

"Then, you weren't hurt. Okay, I may be a little fucked in the head, Gabriel, but I'm not a sadist." Sam snaps, and Gabriel gets a chilling insight into his lover's emotional state, which he isn't sure he wants to see. Standing up, he successfully holds in a wince which doesn't go unmissed by the hunter.

"I want it, Sam. I need it." Gritting his teeth, Gabriel ignores how desperate he sounds, and strides towards Sam, unable to stretch his wings due to the claw marks marring them. "It is below me to beg, but I'll do it anyway." Forcing his head under Sam's, his face upturned to his chin and standing on his toes, Gabriel waits, submissively, for the permission from Sam.

"No, Gab-" Sam grunts, as a hand resumed its fondling of his crotch, so warm and familiar that the effect is damn near immediate.

"Wait, was that a yes?" Gabriel asks, and his voice is as light and teasing as always. Sam can almost just close his eyes and let the sensation of the moment take him away, but he forces himself to stay focused.

"No." Pushing, hard, he is startled when Gabriel falls away with a yelp, hand shooting to hold his chest where Sam's hands had made contact. Glaring, annoyed, though mostly at himself for showing his weakness, Gabriel hisses, actually hisses, looking suddenly much more demonic than angelic. Sam adopts an expression as though he's just realized that he's kicked a puppy and is feeling damn guilty about it. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Sasquatch. You just set my healing back for another few hours." Shifting his weight, Sam holds out his hands in front of him carefully, as though he thought that any sudden movements might startle the archangel.

"I'm sorry. Go, lie down." Taking Gabriel gently by the shoulder that he knows is not injured, Sam leads him to the bed, pushing him down and leaning over him, unbuttoning the ragged and singed clothing hanging off Gabriel's stocky frame. The angel squirms in weak protest, though he allows Sam to manoeuvre his small, frighteningly fragile body into a comfortable position, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. It's almost nice, although embarrassing, to have a human look out for him like this, and he is caught between the relief from the pain, and his hatred of feeling so weak.

"Okay?" Sam asks, mostly to reassure himself, awkwardly tossing Gabriel's clothes on the ground by the foot of the bed as he does so.

"Please, come here." Gabriel lifts his uninjured arm, reaching out towards the human, his eyes pleading. "Sammy," Heart breaking, Sam finds himself unable to resist, and climbs onto the bed next to the archangel, tension in his shoulders dissipating as a small but solid arm curled around his back. Gabriel is still unnaturally hot, his bare skin searing through the hunter's clothing. "Sammy," he repeats, desperately pressing his face into Sam's neck, and Sam's arousal returns full force. "You won't hurt me."

Unconvinced, unsure, Sam raises his eyes to Gabriel's, and he is, surprisingly, not disgusted by the expanse of black, dead skin. Another broken, breath plead is whispered, and he surges forwards, connecting his mouth with Gabriel's open, waiting lips. Their passion, the complete thrill of what he's doing is gone, only to be replaced with a disturbing level of comfort, in indulging in such actions with a male body. Their tongues slide over each other, slick and lively with heat and saliva, and Sam can't help but to sigh, his green eyes flickering closed. They move slowly, their bodies glancing over one another, light enough not to hurt, but hard enough to send electric sensation down their spines. Soon enough, they develop a rhythm; both too exhausted to do anything more than just rub up against one another, they lose themselves in each other, without physical penetration or the frantic lust that they usually adopt.

Sam has always believed in redemption. He believes that yes, some deeds are unforgivable, even with the ultimate sacrifice to negate their effects or memories, but redemption is possible for most. Despite what his brother seems to think, Sam does not think that what Gabriel did was unforgivable. When he left Heaven, he deserted his family, but Sam did the same thing, and that is by far not the worst thing he's done to the world. Mystery Spot was another unforgivable deed, and Sam's only solace comes from the knowledge of how far Gabriel has fallen from what he used to be.

It shouldn't feel this good spiritually to grind with an angel, not with said angel's history, but it does. It's mounting now, that feeling inside him, broiling warmth pooling down his spine, and he knows that Gabriel feels it too. They have spent enough time together, apparently, so that he knows what the archangel wants by the noises he makes – the way that a whine catches in his throat when he wants it harder, and the rough deep grunts which tell Sam he's done something very right.

"Sam," voice catching raggedly on the vowel, and lifting a notch, Gabriel pulls the hunter tighter to him, shuddering from the sensations racking his body. He's so incredibly weak, but he doesn't care anymore because he can see how weak Sam thinks he is for wanting this too. They _both_ need it. "_Sam_."

Broken words and syllables, all parts of rushing and fragmented, lust-singed thoughts, fall from Gabriel's lips, and Sam pants, his open mouth moaning in a way which he would deny to his grave if Gabriel was ever to bring up again. A beautiful high is so incredibly close, and the lights above them are flickering from Gabriel's fluctuating Grace, which reaches out for Sam in a way which he would deny to his death if Sam was to ever suspect. The angel's name is a mantra in Sam's desire-blown mind, and his name a mantra on Gabriel's lips, louder and louder and neither can ignore it anymore.

For the first time since the beginning of their oddly satisfying affair, Sam loses control first, sent over the edge by Gabriel's breathy pleading, hoping desperately that he can redeem himself for causing Gabriel such pain. Remarkably soon, Gabriel follows, spurred on mostly by the final, guttural grunt of his name, before he cums, and the feeling is so intense that it borders on pain, hurtling him so far away from his comfort zone that he screams, begging for it to stop, and for it to go on forever. His true voice splits through the air, shattering the motel around him, and his wings unfurl, freshly healed.

After what feels like an eternity manipulated painfully into one second, Gabriel falls from his orgasm, lying flat on his back still, arms spread across so his hands hang over the edge of the mattress. Having rolled away at the unearthly noise of Gabriel's most epic orgasm to count, Sam pops his head up over the side of the mattress next to the angel's limp right hand, eyes wide.

"Fuck, dude." Completely blissed, Gabriel smirks, lazily holding up one hand and clicking his fingers. Suddenly, Sam can hear again, and he climbs back onto the bed. The archangel makes an unintelligible noise, which can easily be mistaken for a groan, and rolls sideways into the human's chest. Flattered, shocked and suddenly extremely aware of how powerful his lover is, Sam laughs nervously, snaking one arm around him, still breathing heavily. "Well you went all out toni- hey, you're okay!" Gabriel hums, his face vibrating slightly against Sam's chest. Sure enough, every single inch of Gabriel – Sam can tell, because every single inch of Gabriel is still very much on show – is clean again, no burns in sight. Sam isn't sure to be terrified or ecstatic for this recent development.

Footsteps could be heard outside, and Gabriel stiffens against Sam's chest, the audible intake of breath drowning on the click, which froze the very air around them. With a start, Sam realizes that Gabriel is fully clothed again, and has cleaned all evidence of their session from both of their bodies. Sam once again tries to forget how powerful the thing he's fucking is, and can't help but to be a tiny bit smug, that he can get an archangel to submit to him.

"Your brother, right on cue. Wanna go somewhere else?"

"Parking lot?" With a slight curve to his lips, the newly healed Gabriel granted Sam his request, but did not accompany him, instead zapping away to somewhere else, away from the astute young human. Sam looks around himself, momentarily disappointed, but shrugs it off. He knows that there's no way he can make Gabriel do anything, and he also knows that meeting the parents isn't high up on the angel's 'to do' list. He jogs over, coming to stand behind his father, Jo and Bobby, who were standing outside the motel room, looking in as Dean and Ellen surveyed the damage, their shotguns cocked.

"What happened?" He asks, putting on his best 'I swear I just arrived' look of shock which he's pretty sure doesn't fool Dean, but works well enough on everyone else. "What the Hell happened? I heard the shattering like a block away-"

"Where have you been?" John asks, sharply, and Sam looks away, finding that he can't quite face the man who died thinking his youngest son didn't love him.

"I went for a walk." He can almost sense Dean's suspicion, rising from across the room. Dean may not be a University, straight A's kind of guy, but he knew people, and most of all people, he knew Sam. Sam's lies are as transparent to Dean as glass is on windows.

"Man, do you know what the Hell's going on? I mean, first what happened in the graveyard, now this?" Sam shook his head, fixing Dean with a level, blank stare.

"No."

"It's gotta be an angel." Bobby added, from the sidelines, talking to everyone while he frowned at the shattered windows. "We know that much."

"Maybe some angels apart from Castiel don't want the apocalypse to happen." Jo offers, from the door, and John looks sideways at her in surprise, not having heard her speak so far in. "I mean, it's kind of implausible that all of them have the same opinions."

"They're not people, they're soldiers." Dean replies, deadpan, and Sam sees the slight wince he makes when Jo flinches away ever so slightly at the tone of his voice. "They're made to agree with their superiors." Seeing an opportunity, and not knowing why the Hell he takes it, Sam says:

"She's right, Dean. Maybe we've got another angel on our side, one who doesn't want the bad publicity. You gotta consider the option that Cas isn't unique here." Although he senses that he struck a chord which was never meant to be struck, Sam doesn't back down, and gives Dean an apologetic stare which he's pretty sure Dean would classify as 'puppy eyes number 3'. "Once Cas wakes up, he might be able to tell us more." Giving Sam a glare which didn't go unmissed by anyone else in the room, Dean pauses at his brother's side, shoulders tensed angrily.

"You don't get to call him that." Taken aback by his brother's possessiveness, Sam shrinks back, but turns away guiltily. He hates lying to his brother almost as much as his brother hates being lied to.

"Come on, let's regroup before the whole of Lawrence comes around asking why we're standing at ground zero of an angel bomb." Bobby barks, attempting to diffuse the tension surrounding them. John narrows his eyes, but overall says nothing. Head to the ground, avoiding eye contact, Sam follows his brother back to the motel room.

From a safe distance, Gabriel leans against someone's car, his arms crossed over his chest as he regards the retreating hunters through narrowed eyes. He sees Sam pause, standing aside to let Ellen and Jo enter before him before rolling his shoulders self-consciously. He sees green eyes scan the parking lot, alert from years of hunting and betrayal. He sees them focus completely on him, and he's infused with sudden, irrational panic. He knows Sam has seen him.

He has already exposed too much of himself to this kid, and he doesn't intend terribly on exposing more. Vulnerable like that, lying on the motel bed, he realizes the true impact their affair has had on his cover. The facade means nothing now; he's transparent. He has to make some serious choices... and soon.

Gabriel spreads his wings and flies away, refusing to acknowledge what had just happened in that motel room.


	7. Reconciliation

_**It feels like it's been too long, but here it is. I originally planned to have more to this chapter, but it seemed like a nice place to end it where it is. Well, give me feedback if you have the time. **_

_**Em xx**_

...

Chapter Seven – Reconciliation 

The Impala, Ellen's station wagon and Bobby's rusty Transit van make their way through the streets of Lawrence, Kansas, in complete silence. John is driving again, having silently stared Dean into submission for the keys. Sam is sitting in the back seat, having already faced and failed the challenge of lying to his brother and convincing him that he had nothing to do with the mysterious angel symptoms of the Lawrence motel. Dean is also uncharacteristically silent in the presence of Def Leppard, who he often appreciates greatly in an off-tune though enthusiastic fashion. Castiel is being tended to by Jo, who has happily taken the angel in her charge until her rendezvous with the Winchesters and Bobby in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

"Pit stop?" Sam eventually asks, noticing a sign signalling a nearby gas station. His voice is far from timid, but simultaneously wary. His father glances darkly in the driver's mirror of the Impala, and offers an almost imperceptible nod. Dean doesn't dare to glance over his shoulder, but Sam can see the line of his jaw twitch then set solidly.

True to his word, John stops the Impala, deciding to fill up on gas while he waits for Sam. Dean stalks inside the station to pay, and to stretch his legs. Looking around himself furtively, Sam rounds the station to the dingy and crappy bathroom, and casting one last glance to either side of him, Sam backs into the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

Awkwardly, he stands up as straight as he can, taking a deep breath before doing the only thing he knows which will attract an angel short of an official, Enochian symbols etched in cow blood deal complete with candles and cult chanting.

"Uh, Gabriel, I know... well I'm pretty sure by now that you can hear me, and I really need to talk to you right now." Cracking one eye open, Sam checks his surroundings, but they're the exact same as they were before. "Er... please?" Still nothing. "I'll give you another blow-job." He finally tries, desperately, but to no avail. Gabriel is nowhere to be seen, and his window of time away from the watchful eye of John and Dean Winchester is fading fast.

Swearing, colourfully, Sam strides back outside, finding the all too familiar rage rise within him upon the prolonged absence of Gabriel. He snorts at the irony that the annoying Trickster would be the one to _appease_ his wrath, for obvious reasons. Schooling his features in a way which he knows will not fool John, let alone Dean, he returns to the car, settling in the backseat seconds before Dean returns with meagre, unhealthy snacks and a sour expression. No words are spoken between the three Winchesters, and John pulls back out onto the road.

They drive for thirty minutes in complete silence, not willing to bring themselves to talk about whatever angst-ridden issue which is clinging to and plaguing their minds. No, they are Winchesters, which means that they will suffer in silence. For once, Sam is in agreement with the silent torture that his father and Dean are eager to inflict upon themselves, and does not object. However, this tensely silent and uncomfortably tense moment culminates in an inevitable outburst, although it originates from the least likely of parties.

The Impala lurches, suddenly and dramatically, to a halt, and Sam thanks whoever is listening that it is still early enough that no one else is out on the road, because they're parked precariously and dangerously in the middle of it. Dean shouts, startled, words morphing into a harsh grunt of worry, and stares at his father as though he's been betrayed. Sam doesn't know what has offended his brother more; surprising him, or treating the Impala so roughly.

"Sons." John's voice is rough, as though it has been clawed at, and he speaks as though he's being forced. "All of what you told me last night..." Sam closes his eyes, feeling his father's eyes on him in his mirror but not being able to meet them in his shame. "Through all of it, even though I feel I should hate you for what you did, I know that you will have done the best you could." John stares at the road in front of him, concentrating hard not to let his emotions show, not out of aversion to showing his sons what he is feeling, but rather out of inexperience of how to do so. "At least I can only hope you did."

"Dad-" Sam attempts to interject, but John holds up one hand, effectively sentencing him to silence. Biting his lip, Sam waits for his father to continue.

"And I know that when I left, you both weren't ready for this life. I prepared you the best I could, but I should have... I should have told you more about what Sam was meant for, and why he was important. While I didn't know about the whole Devil thing, I knew he was special." Swallowing with difficulty, John feels the panic fluttering in his chest, when he sees his sons are mainly unresponsive. "And when I made that deal with Azazel, you have to understand, Dean, that I did it not just to save your life. You were always better at taking care of Sam than I was." Dean turns to face the window, similarly unwilling to let his family read his expression.

"We don't blame you for that," Sam tells his father, in complete honesty. He knows that he forgave his father for everything years ago, and while it had taken Dean much longer, he still loves and respects the man just as much as before. "And we're sorry for everything." John snorts, and Sam tenses, believing a terse and venomous comment is going to be thrown his way, but upon his father's next words, he re-evaluates just how sorry John is for leaving them.

"Don't give me apologies, Sam, or you, Dean. I don't care what you've done, or what you've become, because you are still my sons and I still love you more than anything. This thing, me being alive, it's a way for the apocalypse to happen, but I'd also like to think that it's a second chance."

"A second chance for what?" Sam asks, head cocked to the side. There is an aching in his chest, overcoming all of the anger and the self-loathing which usually controls him, and he aches for his father to forgive him for everything that he has done.

"To be the father that I never really was to you. I raised you both like warriors, on the road, constantly in danger. You deserved more than that, and I know it. Hell, I _knew_ it. Now, though I can't make it all better, or make you forgive and forget every piece of shit I've forced you to wade through, but I want to try. If I can't do that, then I've not only failed as a father, I've failed as a human being." Dean makes a slight noise, strangled and vulnerable, but still he refuses to face his father. Sam can see his expression in the passenger side rear-view mirror, and he knows Dean is fighting to keep tears down. "And once this is all over," John continues, breathing so heavily his words are distorted. "Then, and _only_ then will we talk about everything that happened. Until then, we'll act like real men and get this job done."

"Yes Sir." Sam speaks up, and his voice is strong with relief, that his father is finally becoming slightly closer to a man who he would have looked up to as a father.

"Understood," Dean mutters quietly, his word marred by emotion.

"Good." As though nothing had happened, John takes the car out of park and continues to drive down the still empty road. Dean continues to stare out of his window, his chin silently quivering as he attempts to control himself. Sam continues to look out of his own window, but there is a smile gracing his lips. It's a start.

...

They have been driving towards South Dakota for three hours when Sam becomes acutely aware of two feet lying across his lap, crossed at the ankle. Jumping, and cursing out of reflex, Sam stares in shock at the sight of the stocky archangel lounging across the back seat of the Impala. Gabriel raises one eyebrow, then returns his attention to the rest of the purplish ice cream in the carton in front of him.

The Impala swerves violently, John not being accustomed to the shock entrances of angelic entities. Dean turns in his seat, expression almost comically surprised, and immediately yells at Gabriel. Sam's confusion must amuse Gabriel, because the angel chuckles in his direction. For the second time that afternoon, the car skids to a halt, this time half on the grassy verge, and the two older Winchesters turn to face Gabriel with identical expressions. Gabriel appears to find them quite amusing, but doesn't elaborate as to why he's suddenly materialised in the back of their car.

"You should really try this, Sammy. Grape and raspberry, you know, _healthy_ things. You like them, right?" Completely avoiding giving any information pertaining to his presence, Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows, and takes a massive mouthful of grape and raspberry ice cream into his mouth. Sam promptly ignores the warm arousal which automatically stirs in the archangel's presence.

"Gabriel, what the hell are you even doing here?" Dean barks, immediately nervous that he is about to be sent back into TV land, and John's eyes dart between the intruder and his two sons, trying to gauge what is going on, and who has just appeared in the back seat of his car. Even in the marathon of explaining the night before, Gabriel and the Trickster were categorised with the rest of the monsters, which made Sam oddly uncomfortable, and slightly guilty. "What do you want?"

"The pleasure of your company." Gabriel's usually sarcastic tone is even more dry than usual, and he sighs, when all three Winchesters continue to stare at him like he's grown an extra head. "You can keep driving, you know, I'm not doing anything." John makes no move to do so, and the archangel shrugs in a 'doesn't bother me' way.

"Who is this?" John asks, and Gabriel's eyes light up before Sam's eyes, the joy of being confronted with another test subject too infinite for him to confine.

"It doesn't matter who it is, because he's leaving." Dean growls, his bottle green eyes narrowed to slits. Gabriel chuckles, as though he knows something that they don't, which he most likely does. Although he does not respond to Dean, he turns to Sam, licking ice cream off of his spoon in a way which has got to be intentional.

"Sammy, you wanted to talk. Now's your chance." Incredulous, Sam stares at Gabriel, who returns his gaze levelly. Gabriel knows exactly what Sam wanted to talk about, but he also knows that Sam won't bring it up in front of his father and his brother.

"Is this just to screw with us, or are you here for why I think you're here?" Sam asks, and there is a pain in his voice which surprises Gabriel. Apparently, Gabriel isn't the only one in their relationship who is losing all sight and control of who he is and what he feels.

"I don't know, Sam, why do you think I'm here?" His tone is almost mocking, but his voice is dark, as though he is warning Sam against directly stating the obvious. Annoyed by the intimidation technique, Sam straightens up and replies by doing just that.

"To swear allegiance," he says, bluntly. "Tell me I'm wrong." Averting his eyes, Gabriel snaps his fingers and the ice cream is gone. He neither confirms nor denies Sam's accusation, not only because he is ashamed, but also because he is confused; he is torn three ways, between his two brothers and his earthbound lover. Dean is just staring now, halfway towards understanding that Gabriel is actually there to help, despite his clear lack of trust for the creature.

"This has to be a trick," Dean says, though even he sounds uncertain. The honesty he can sense from Gabriel sways him, and when he looks upon the Trickster he seems remarkably human. The thought occurs to him that Gabriel is falling, but he doesn't think so. Could he be less evil than they had previously assumed? Dean has always prided himself on being a good judge of character, and he had never seen the Trickster as completely evil. An asshole, yes, and a mischievous bastard, most definitely, but he had never seemed purely evil, in fact the main thing Dean noticed when he trapped Gabriel was the pure desperation that he had, eager for it all to end. But that doesn't mean that he's not working against them; to trick them into giving themselves up to Michael and Lucifer. After all, he does want them to 'play their roles'.

"Honest to God." Gabriel smirks at his own joke, golden eyes flitting carelessly over John and Dean, before they settle on Sam. "I'm here to make love, not war." Sam rolls his eyes, and Gabriel smiles wider, glad to see a response out of his favourite human. He pushes back the implications of _that_ into a tiny hidden place in the back of his mind, to freak out over later. "But, if you don't want my help, fine by me." Gabriel shrugs, knowing that the Winchesters are just as desperate for allies as they were when they considered recruiting a Trickster. "Just don't go saying I never did anything for you."

Sam knew that was meant for Dean, and when he glances up at his brother, he can see the cogs turning in his head as he weighs the options and the implications of Gabriel's presence, and the motives to his presence.

"He was the one who took us out of the graveyard." Dean had originally intended that to be a question, but it comes out as a statement of absolute certainty. He thinks he understands Gabriel, and Sam wonders briefly how his brother does this; how Dean can make a split second decision based on character and limited information, and understand a person, just like that. _And_ always be right. "Why did you do that?"

"So you'd love me Dean. I've always harboured a special gay crush on you," the archangel says dryly. A station wagon pulls up in front of them as he speaks, and Dean is distracted from what would have been a vicious comeback by the appearance of Ellen through the windscreen. Still completely bemused by what is going on around him, John rolls down his window to speak with her.

"Everything alright, boys? Bobby's already over the border, we just stopped for something to eat." Her eyes flicker to Gabriel, who offers her an ostentatious wink in reply. Sam doesn't think he's ever seen Ellen look so uncomfortable, and he's pretty sure she's been propositioned plenty of times. Gabriel appears to take pleasure in this, and lounges further in his seat, poking at Sam's stomach with his feet while the others are preoccupied looking at Ellen. The look in his eyes tells Sam that they'll talk later, and before a second could pass, the archangel is gone.

"Son of- where'd he go?" Dean asks, brow furrowed. "I thought that he wants to help."

"I don't think that he meant he'll sit through a boring car journey, and to be perfectly honest, I'm _happy_ that he's not accompanying us on a long, long car journey with nothing to amuse him but us human test subjects," Sam replies, and Dean cracks a smile – a genuine, Dean Winchester light-up-the-room grin which reminds Sam of happier times, when his brother was not as burdened as he is now.

"Me too, man, and I don't know why, but I believe the guy." Raising his eyebrows, Sam can't help his lips twitching into a slight smile at the radiance his brother is now giving off. The good mood due to his father's forgiveness is clearly a factor in his easy acceptance, which Sam knows will come back to bite them in the ass when it wears off.

"And you seem pretty happy about it." Dean shrugs, and John puts the car back in gear, looking inquisitively at his sons.

"Well what can I say? I think that we've finally got a break." Sam can feel eyes on him, from the rear-view mirror, and he knows what's coming next. "You still talked to him, even after what he did in TV land. I told you that talking to monsters was a bad idea, Sam." Immensely thankful that was all his perceptive brother has gleaned from the situation, Sam brings his face up, meeting Dean's eyes.

"Well it turned out okay this time." Dean grins again, and reaches towards the radio, body language incredibly more relaxed than it had been when they started the journey. AC/DC blasts through the Impala, and Dean leans back, settling his head against the window.

"Yes it did." His words are nearly lost in the bass, but Sam hears them all the same.

...

_**Now, I would like you, if you're reviewing, to take a second to think about my grammar. I've never really thought about it, because I've never had any of my stories beta'd, but there are a lot of wiggly green lines in 'Microsoft Word non-commercial use' and it's almost as if they're mocking me. It's beginning to make me ridiculously insecure about my technical accuracy. **_

_**Not that I really have to worry about it. Take that, higher English! **__bitch__**. **_

_**As always, tell me what you think of the storyline too; all opinions are welcome and good ones make me smile. = {) **_

_**-Em x**_


	8. Some Time Away

**Chapter 8 – Some Time Away**

The Harvelles find and take full advantage of the dusty second bedroom which Bobby rarely ever uses, and the Winchester brothers take up their usual place in the study, with John crashing in the second bathroom's bathtub, which is surprisingly comfortable with the aid of a couple of pillows and a quilt. Castiel is currently in the panic room, serenely sleeping in a rigidly and uniquely Cas fashion.

Sleep takes Dean easily, for the first time in what feels like years. Hell, in what _has been_ years. So Sam listens, staring intently at the ceiling, as his brother dreams of happier things, content in the knowledge that not only does he have his father back, but also that he is forgiven, and that he is loved. Sam knows Dean well enough to know that now is one of those rare times that he feels he is actually worth something, and he isn't going to shit on his older brother's parade by telling him that, chances are, they're still pretty fucking screwed as far as the big picture goes. But then again, Dean's never really been a 'big picture' kind of guy.

Closing his eyes, Sam finds that doesn't work either, and is left staring at the blackness of the back of his eyelids, mind just as awake as it had been earlier.

'Please, Gabriel, speak to me. I really, really need to talk to you.' He thinks, pointedly, his own voice sounding in his head so loudly it feels strange and foolish. 'What happened the other night has been bothering me a lot, and even if you don't want to talk to me about it, I still want to see you.' He allows his mind to drift, and it suddenly occurs to Sam that Gabriel can't hear him, after pulling himself from the slight daydream of how his time would be spent if Gabriel appeared at that second. After all, they had spent hours putting up angel protection, knowing that the 'God Squad', as Dean put it, was gunning for John as well as Dean. So that blocked pretty much all angelic communication in the area.

As sneakily as possible, Sam slips out of his covers, creeping away, out of the back door which made no noise, and out into the scrap yard. The night is deep and sharp, crisp from bitter air and full of shadow. Sam glances around himself warily, finding that the dark shadows don't scare him as much as they used to. But hey, if anyone has the right to be jaded, it's Lucifer's vessel. There's only so much evil one man can witness before knowing that nothing waiting in the shadows can possibly be as bad as what's lurking in plain sight.

Taking a long breath of the cool night air, Sam closes his eyes, out of tradition more than anything else.

"Gab-"

"I heard you the first time." The all too familiar voice spills through the darkness, and Sam's green eyes snap back open, fixing on the familiar figure of Gabriel, his hands dug deep into his pockets. "Nice, Sammy – angel protection." He doesn't sound truly annoyed; there is a fond tone of amusement in his voice. "I can hear, but I can't touch... in what way is that possibly fair?" The corners of his mouth turn up at the edges into a cute smirk. "Tease."

"Sorry." Automatically, almost without thought, Sam walks through the space between them and gathers the smaller body to him. Kissing Gabriel quickly on the temple, he releases the archangel, holding him firmly at arm's length.

"We need to talk," he says, and Gabriel squirms, accordingly, fingers closing around Sam's wrists, the soft pads pressing against his pulse points. The human's heartbeat is surprisingly relaxed, while he is around Gabriel, and it impacts him strangely, in ways which he thinks he doesn't want to openly disclose.

"Can't you just give me that blowjob you promised me at the gas station?" Cocking his head to the side, Gabriel grins playfully, his aura very different to the highly strung, angry helplessness he was exhibiting in the aftermath of Raphael's attack. "I've been looking forwards to it."

"What happened? In the motel room. When you healed?" Sam asks, determined not to be swayed. "And since when did you decide you were playing for our team – shut up, not like that." He frowns at the archangel, who sighs, his good mood fortunately not evaporating.

"I will tell you everything, Sasquatch, just..." Gabriel moves his hands up Sam's sleeves, running them down his sides to settle on his hips. "Let me take you somewhere more comfortable." Sam grins, slow and leering, before giving his consent in way of a nod. Suddenly - and although Sam is prepared, the angel transportation still knocks the strength out of his legs, and all thought from his brain – he is somewhere else. After a fraction of a second, he recognises the surrounding decor.

"The room in Paris?" Looking around himself, Sam smirks. "Where's the Chlamydia girl?"

"At the clinic." Gabriel takes hold of his jacket lapels, sliding it off Sam's broad shoulders and down his arms with easy confidence which only comes from _lots_ of practise. "Now Sammy, I'm going to tell you everything you want to know, just as soon as you get naked. Sound like a deal?"

"Sounds completely acceptable to me," Sam drawls, and Gabriel rids him of all the useless articles of clothing, before pushing him roughly back onto the massive heart shaped bed. The whole room was decorated like a cherub puked all over it, but Sam's not complaining. It's private, and it's far away from everything, giving him a moment to focus on _them_, and just them. Gabriel is still dressed, but changes that with a swift click of his fingers, before clambering enthusiastically onto Sam's chest, legs straddling the human as he mumbles softly into Sam's clavicle. Sam likes the way that Gabriel touches him; like he's precious; like he's something to be treasured; like he's worth more than he is.

"First," Gabriel begins, purposefully not looking at Sam, his face still buried in the human's neck. He is giddy with the feelings of it all - the touch of Sam on his skin and the proximity of their bodies, in the large bed. "I want you to know that what we've got, is complex. There's no way to really tell you what's happening to you, because honestly, I have no idea what's even happening to me." It's strange how vulnerable Gabriel seems, by being so openly honest, and it's wrong that it almost feels normal after seeing his moods seesaw along the course of their relationship alongside lies and misdirection which he was so fluent in. It's almost as wrong as being _in_ a relationship with an archangel of the Lord, because that's pretty taboo.

"That explains everything," Sam says sarcastically because yeah, he's grateful that Gabriel's being honest, but that doesn't mean he gets to shirk the question. The archangel sends him a glare though, and he falls silent, allowing his lover to continue.

"But I can try." Pulling back, Gabriel watches him through unusually sober eyes, and it is impressed upon Sam that when the Trickster is taking a situation seriously, then it's really time to cut your losses and run like Hell. Then again, he is the Devil's vessel, so not a lot could really make things worse for him; on this logic, Sam stays put. "Well, a lot of unexplainable things happen to angels, mostly because we don't adhere to the normal creation rules. We were made as mindless, clueless soldiers but we evolved into drones with bones. We changed, into something which is able to grow a mind of its own, if stimulated to do so."

"No offense man, but that's not an explanation," Sam says, after a moment of pause as Gabriel pondered the meaning and accuracy of his words. Sam can see right through him now. It's a lie; he can tell that Gabriel knows what's really happening, and he's keeping something from Sam. But the indecision: that's real.

"All I know is that in that motel room, my Grace," Golden eyes flickered up to Sam's, with shy uncertainty that Sam personally has never seen them exhibit. The truth is winning in Gabriel's internal battle, and his words are honest. "It reached. I don't know how, but apparently it likes you, and it, clung onto you. I was just so tired, and I lost control and it felt like I was losing my Grace. And it left, and it came back, and it healed me." With one look at the archangel, Sam can see why he was so reluctant to explain. Gabriel is utterly terrified. "You healed me."

"How-"

"I'm serious; I have no idea." Encircling the smaller body with one arm, Sam held the tense creature to his front, burying his nose in Gabriel's hair. "I can't even begin to think because this hasn't happened before, not that I know of." The archangel stretches his small body, languidly, like a cat enjoying the sun. "But it's not hurting, eh?" Sam knows that Gabriel's scared. A fool could see that Gabriel is scared, but somehow that comforts him. It makes him feel less inhuman, to see something like Gabriel scared and he can't quite explain why, but it does.

A hand slides along Gabriel's side and down to his hip, circling around his lower back with relaxed intentions.

"But there's something more important." Before the archangel has time to react, he's on his back, and the hot, heavy weight of Sam Winchester is on top of him, the contact searing his skin. "You see, I don't like owing people." Gabriel mutters something incoherent and ridiculously feminine, whining at the sudden passion Sam drives with. "So when I promise something, I intend to follow through on it..." Humming in absolute delight, Gabriel pushes his hips up, forcing one thigh between Sam's and grinding. The human groans, voice tapering off enthrallingly low.

"Ho, ho, I see where you're going with this," he trills, pausing to lick lightly at Sam's jaw-line. "But just so I'm sure, why don't you tell me, Sammy?" Shuddering with anticipation, Sam grinned against Gabriel's temple.

"Well I did promise you that I'd suck you off," Sam mutters, casually, pressing his nose to his lover's hairline. "Any objections?"

"No; by all means, knock yourself out." Gabriel's voice is lower than usual, and it has a dangerously alluring edge to it. Groaning, just being able to imagine how good Gabriel's gonna taste, Sam captures the angel's mouth in a deep kiss, all wet tongue and hunger. The smaller body has been mapped; he knows what to expect at his fingers when he moves them downwards, along the fluttering heat of Gabriel's chest and the soft muscle of his abdomen. Whining loud, Gabriel clambers, wrapping his arms around the larger frame as the talented, talented hands of Sam trail his hips, tantalisingly close.

Sam moves back, pulling away, and the cold air rushes in to replace him, so Gabriel's Grace warms the room. Sam's sweating now, watching as the powerful creature helplessly whined, thrilled and writhing for his touch. The power trip makes his head spin, and he takes a moment to savour in it, leaning down and dragging his tongue alone Gabriel's hip. The archangel yelps, the sensations shooting straight to his spine, and trickling down, and Sam shudders, soaking in the sight and the feeling of it all. Gabriel grins.

"You know, we've got a time limit, Sammy, and I fully intend to- _fuck_!" Gabriel's words cut off into an unplanned shout, as wet warmth slipped over his dick, unexpected but definitely not unwanted. Sam chuckles at his reaction, licking languidly up to the head, and smirking up at Gabriel.

"Me too," he mutters, and Gabriel's head drops back onto the pillow, quivering hands making their way to Sam's hair where they latch on, gripping tightly as Sam lowers his lips over Gabriel's head again, bathing the soft flesh in saliva before taking more inside. He hears a yelp, faintly, but he doesn't register properly; the blood is pounding too hard in his ears, and his body is buzzing with arousal. The heady scent of power hung in the air, tightening and strengthening as Gabriel crept closer and closer to the edge.

"Sammy." It sounds wrong, to hear his childhood nickname said like that, but Sam's not complaining. It hits him, deep to his core, that Gabriel calls him that, even though on the surface, he acts as though he is annoyed by it. Gabriel always acts so familiar, and Sam used to hate that. But now, he knows the lines and planes of Gabriel's body, and the rise and fall of his voice, and the thud and thump of his heart. _Now_, they're familiar enough for nicknames.

Mumbling, Sam moans around Gabriel's dick and sending blissful vibrations up his body. Convulsing for a brief moment, Gabriel shouts, his name again, not quite there but so incredibly close. Sam fondles his balls with his left hand, stroking his groin while he buried Gabriel's shaft in his mouth, completely, swallowing to counter his body's natural reaction. His right hand travelled up the archangel's body, smoothing up his damp torso and planting firmly, lovingly, on his chest. Gabriel is glowing, even more brightly than Sam has ever seen him, and trembling with the overwhelming might of his pleasure, and in the seconds before he comes, he reaches, grabbing Sam's hand tightly with his own.

Sam swallows it all down; taking everything that Gabriel could give him. After what felt like minutes, Gabriel's iron grip on Sam's hand loosens, and his body relaxes. The warmth shrouding Sam recedes slightly, along with the glow of Gabriel's skin, leaving only a trace of faint luminescence which warmed him to his very core. Chuckling, Sam sits up between Gabriel's legs and wipes his slightly sore mouth, before grinning down at the archangel, who is completely limp, arms lying still on either side of his torso.

"Debt repaid?" he asks, cocking his head to the side, and Gabriel makes an unintelligently incomprehensible noise.

"Very repaid," Gabriel replies, after a long moment, his words slurred. "I can only thank you for your wonderful service."

"Ah, so you enjoyed it then." Gabriel does not reply, but giggles, giddy, and Sam takes that to mean yes. Nuzzling into his neck, Sam gives the angel a few minutes to recover, thinking about the implications of what Gabriel had told him. Honestly, he believed that it was true; that that was indeed what had happened in the motel room, but he still knew that Gabriel had a suspicion about what was really going on. But, as he said before, he'd just have to wait and see, because clearly not even Gabriel was sure what was going on anymore.

"Go on then," Gabriel mutters, suggestively, and Sam leans back to look him in the face when he asks:

"Go on with what?" The archangel raises his eyebrows, and gives an exaggerated wink.

"Well I find it difficult to believe that you're gonna get to sleep with that." He nods south, and Sam knows exactly what he's referring to. "So come on kid, give me the best you've got."

"A challenge…" Sam licks the underside of Gabriel's jaw, and can't help but to groan a little at the thought. "You completely healed then?"

"Do your worst; probably won't even feel it." Ignoring the teasing, Sam snorts and grinds up against his angel, eyes fluttering shut as he laid his forehead against his neck. As usual, Gabriel gets impatient first, and guides him into his deep, dry heat. Shouting aloud, Sam doesn't bother to mask his pleasure because here, there's no one to hide from. They're lovers here, instead of the reluctant allies they are when they're back with his family. It feels ridiculously like a narcotic high, a step less taboo than the demon blood.

"Ngh, Gabriel," Sam theorises that his brain isn't doing the talking, because he's just grunting, and growling Gabriel's name, sensation thriving with every thrust into his body.

"Ah, fuck," Gabriel yelps, loud and piercing. "Fuck, I feel _that_." Sam has to laugh at that, because it's very predictable, very Gabriel. "A lot," Gabriel adds, rolling his hips and pushing his head back onto the pillow and groaning. He's pretty damn loud like that, and it's all Sam can hear and what's more, it's all Sam wants to hear. He wants it all to stand still; the apocalypse, the mess with his father, the whole world just to freeze, and he wants to spend an eternity with only this. But, the world moves on, and it's over too soon, both of them panting and sweating into each other, and all they could ever ask for is more time, because all that anyone wants is more time, but it's over and all they can do is remember just how awesome it felt when it was just them and no one else.

And so, exhausted and for the moment sated, Sam pulls out of and rolls off of Gabriel, to lie flat on his back, staring at the ceiling helplessly.

"I sincerely hope that was as good for you as it was for me," Sam finally slurs, grinning at the archangel's resulting giggles. Turning around, Gabriel buries his face in the human's neck, sighing happily.

"If the spectacular finish somehow passed you by, I believe you can still examine it: it's on your stomach." His voice is blurred by Sam's skin, but discernable. Sure enough, when he glances down, Sam sees the point, and accepts that this was probably just as awesome for Gabriel. Then, since the world is moving at its usual warp speed, he realises that he's probably been gone long enough to raise eyebrows, if not panic Dean into full search mode. So he pulls away, disappointing both himself and Gabriel.

"I should really get back. Dean does sleep in three hour shifts, wakes up to check up on me." Sam sits up, and then waves his hands in the air, looking at Gabriel accusatorily. "Where are my clothes?"

"If I told you that I vaporised them would you stay naked?" He offers, with a grin, but Sam pushes him, bitchface in place.

"I would make a toga out of the bed sheets," Sam fronts, but Gabriel just wiggles his eyebrows audaciously and murmurs something about liking the way of the Romans, which Sam doesn't really want to know about. "I do need to get back." Gabriel sighs, knowing that he does, and clicks his fingers and Sam's clothes reappear in the appropriate order.

"Fine, but convince your fellow humans to let me into their home without trying to kill me," his voice is sharp; he clearly doesn't appreciate being loved then left. Leaning over the bed, Sam presses his lips to his lover's, feeling the mouth beneath his give way to a smile. "Love you..." Sam tries not to jerk back to suddenly in surprise, and he knows better than to meet Gabriel's eyes because he knows the uncertainty he finds there will crush him. He can sense the regret in the air, because Gabriel is pulling away, his clothes suddenly present, closing off. He hadn't meant to say that.

"That's why your Grace reached for me," Sam breathes, and Gabriel turns away, unwilling to look at him, cursing himself for allowing himself to relax so much to let his mask slip. Hell, his mask is on the floor right now, and Sasquatch knows exactly what had happened in that motel room. Somehow, although he knows nothing about angels, or Grace, or this twisted affection they have going, he _understands_.

"Wow. College education really wasn't wasted on you, was it Winchester?" He doesn't mean for his voice to be so cold, but it is terribly cold. He can't stop it from being cold. He doesn't know if he wants to be warm again so he stands from the bed, heaving a sigh and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "I told you before, I don't know what-"

"You're in love with me," Sam doesn't bother to wait for Gabriel's sarcastic and dutifully embarrassing retort, and ploughs on. "You're in love with me, and your Grace knows it."

"Don't be stupid," Gabriel snaps, still facing away from Sam. "It was a fluke. A rush of energy – it happens sometimes."

"Not what you said earlier." Whirling around, Gabriel suddenly looks livid, like he did in TV land, when Dean accused him of siding with one of his brothers.

"What do you want from me, Sam?" It isn't a question which Sam entirely knows how to answer, but his mouth is doing the asking: his brain left the conversation just after Gabriel confessed.

"I want you to acknowledge that this is happening, and that you're involved. You zapped into the Impala earlier. You're fighting in this war. Well, presumably, providing that you're not trying to trick me, and I don't think that you are-"

"Oh yeah?" Gabriel holds his head high, refusing to be defeated. "And why's that? Is it because you know me so well?" Sam snorts, glaring at the archangel who was just being stubborn now.

"Like it or not, Gabriel, I'm the only one who does know you. To no one else except your brothers and us, are you Gabriel, and you've changed a lot since you spoke to your brothers. I can see you, Gabriel, I can see right through you and the more you try to deny it, the more you'll realise that I'm right. You love me and you know it." Blazing golden eyes stare him down, furious to be spoken to like that by something so pointlessly mortal, and what's more, for it to be speaking the truth.

"You're right Sam; you should be getting back before your brother wakes up," Gabriel says, no emotion perceptible in his voice, even though it runs behind his eyes, still visible to Sam. He hates that Gabriel has to hide from him, and it frustrates him that he can't seem to convince him that it doesn't matter. That he can love Sam if he wants to.

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but he's back in the salvage yard, among the empty skeletons of lonely cars, Bobby's dogs barking from their kennel at the disturbance. Gabriel is nowhere in sight, not that it surprises him, so he storms away, inside, trying to curb his insatiable anger.

Dean is there, talking to his father, who is hunched over like anyone who has just slept five hours in a bathtub, and been dead not long before that. Both look relieved to see him, but then adopt identically pissed expressions when he walks towards them, eyes narrowing and brows contracting and top lips curling. Ignoring the bark about where he's been, Sam veers around them, not wanting them to see how upset he is. He doesn't want _anyone_ to know how upset he is over this. He allowed himself to get emotionally attached, and now he's paying the price.

A hand catches his arm, spinning him back around to face his father. Dean would have let him walk away, and talk to him once he had cooled off, but just like old times, John is ready to go head to head with Sam, no matter the injuries sustained.

"Where've you been? Talking to that angel again?" John doesn't sound judging of the fact – clearly his earlier persuasion on the way to Sioux Falls about Gabriel's help had gone down well. However, he still sounds pretty pissed, so Sam can't really tell, and neither does he have the patience to work it out. "You should have told you brother that you were negotiating with it." Turning his face away, Sam chokes on the inhale, and his voice is weak and shaky at best.

"I didn't think that he was going to bite," Sam says, immediately regretting his choice of words, because it brings back the realisation that he most likely _has_ a few bite marks that he needs to keep hidden. "I'm sorry." John appears taken aback by the apology, his entire demeanour softening as he realises just how much pain Sam's in. He doesn't know what to think, or to say, so he looks at Dean. Then, with shame, he realises that he shouldn't be shouldering responsibility onto his son, and steps up the best way he knows how.

"And you trust this guy?" Sam doesn't want to say yes, but he does anyway. Gabriel is their only chance – they all know it. "Well fine then. Just tell us when you're planning on meeting. I want to be there." Despite his harsh tone, and displeased expression, this is the equivalent of Sam's father giving him a hug and professing his love, and it's all just too much. Dampness obscures his entire vision, and his shoulders give a minute shake, muscles tensed to hide it from Dean and John. Both notice, and trade glances.

Sam is too tired to care. He's too tired to pretend that there's nothing going on, or to lie to his family. It's late, and the world is just as fucked up as it was the day before. He's not making a difference at all.

"Sammy, get back to sleep," Dean orders, taking Sam by the shoulder, but steering the large body through to the study facing away from him, to give his little brother privacy. Crying isn't something that Winchesters just suddenly embrace, even though this is the most open they've been with their feelings in years. Ever, most likely, in reference to John. "We've got a big day tomorrow," Dean says, his voice low and soothing, like it used to be when Sammy was a crying seven year old with a complex about his daddy not being there. "So just sleep it off."

Shaking and miserable, Sam silently agrees, allowing Dean to move him back to the camp bed – it had been his turn to sleep on the floor, and he didn't really fit that well on the couch anyways – and pull of his shoes, manipulating his body under the covers. It feels strange, being touched this much by someone who wasn't Gabriel, but Dean's care is familiar – it's something that he's been used to his whole life. Dean's his brother, his loving, caring, sometimes overbearing older brother who literally went to Hell and back for him, but still he wants it to be Gabriel pulling the blankets up around his shoulders. He feels sad and guilty that it's the case, but he can't stop wishing that Gabriel would just appear, and take him back. Maybe not apologise, because he's not an _idiot_ and he knows _that's_ not going to happen, but just him being there would be enough.

But, Gabriel doesn't appear, and Sam turns onto his back to stare at the ceiling, minutes stretching to hours as the sun begins to climb and shine through the slightly dingy windows. At the sound of two distinct snores, he glances around to see his father and his brother, asleep side by side on the couch, Dean holding onto John's arm in a way which he hasn't since he was six. John had stayed, to look over Sam as he slept. Sam couldn't remember the last time that he had seen John touch either of them, apart from the odd clap on the shoulder, or the accidental brush of fingers when he handed them something. They look oddly... peaceful.

Sam wishes he could look like that, as he clambers upright, and heads to the kitchen for some breakfast, even though he doesn't want to eat.

He refuses to admit, to anyone else or himself, that he's pining for Gabriel, because men don't pine.

...

_Well, it's been a while, I know, but holidays and all. Anyways, there it was, the latest instalment, and I've finally realised where I'm going to go with this storyline. Should be fun... in the next chapter, Castiel wakes up! _

_Anyway, tune in next week, and don't forget to review! I'm already working on chapter 9, but it might be a while because I have issues with time and University applications to think about. _

_-Em xx _


	9. The Waiting

_Yes, I realised that it was more than about time that I owed you another chapter... and here it is. Read it, review it, do what you want with it, but overall: enjoy it._

_-Em x_

...

Chapter 9 – The Waiting

He can't tell his father or Dean that he is calling for Gabriel. First of all, they wouldn't let him out of the angel-free zone if it killed them. Secondly, they know, especially after the night before that something weird is going on, even though Sam is pretty sure they didn't know the specifics of the situation. They probably think that Gabriel hurt him. And even though it makes him sound like a teenage girl, Sam feels as though he has to agree with that evaluation. So he's standing outside in the rain, hoping that his lover will listen to him when he prays.

"You probably don't really want to talk to me right now," Sam begins, in a small voice, feeling as stupid as he always does when talking to thin air. "But this is something that we kind of need to sort out. We need help. There are reports of angels everywhere and we don't know where to go next." His voice echoes slightly against the backdrop of the empty scrap yard, even though he's trying to keep his voice low. He's a fair distance from the house, but its occupants are trained hunters with keen ears. This part of their alliance is none of their business.

He waits for a few minutes, still as a statue while icy water dribbles into his hair and down the back of his neck. No one appears, and there's no telltale sound of wings amid the sound of the raindrops pounding against broken, rusty metal. Sam continues; he knows the Archangel can hear him, even if he's choosing not to reply. "I know that you're freaking out, but that's normal. You don't think I'm freaking out too? I get that it's hard, after... after what happened between you and your brothers. I don't know the whole story and I'm not a shrink, but I don't have to be to see that you have serious issues." Quickly, he glances behind himself to check for Gabriel, thinking that he hears a noise, but sees nothing so returns to his monologue.

"I mean, I get that part. After everything, I totally get that part. I don't want to love you. It's weak and it will put either one of us, or both of us, at a disadvantage. That doesn't mean that I'm going to deny that I'm falling in love with you, because I'm done with lying. I lied to Dean about Ruby, and the demon blood, and look where that put me. I'm trying to be honest here, and if you can't handle that, we're done." Sam shifts uncomfortably, taking a deep breath. He hadn't meant to make an ultimatum, but he isn't about to take it back. Everything he just said is true, as much as he wants to deny it. "I honestly didn't think you were a coward for running away from your family, not really." He looks up at the sky, even though he knows Gabriel isn't in Heaven; he's probably as far from it as he can get. "But running away from me does make you a coward. The only person you're protecting now is yourself."

Nothing. Not even a whisper of an answer carries to Sam, and he's left wondering if Gabriel can even hear him at all. Of course, he can. He's just denying the meaning behind Sam's words. Tensing, the hunter turns, intending to stride inside to contribute to the increasingly violent spit-balling session the rest of his family is involving themselves in.

"Sam." Stiffening, Sam's hand closes around the hilt of Ruby's knife; the low, gravelly voice behind him is most definitely not Gabriel's. Internally he curses himself, and he turns back, knowing exactly who he's about to see – it's strange hearing it, but he does recognise that voice. He'd know it anywhere.

"I didn't hear you come out, Dad." John knew that Gabriel is an angel. He knows that Sam's not telling him something about their alliance with Gabriel. John Winchester's a lot of things, but he isn't dumb.

"I was just-" Sam tries to explain himself, but his father interrupts him before he can start.

"I heard what you were doing." His voice is cold, and unforgiving as he watches his youngest son levelly. Sam's become compliant, now unused to facing the intimidation of John's dark stare. Despite Dean's similar mannerisms, his brother has their mother's eyes. They both do. "Are you going to tell me what's really going on here?" John's giving him a chance to lie, and explain that it isn't how it sounds, but Sam's done with that. He wasn't kidding when he said that to Gabriel – no more lies. Not to himself, or anyone else. Fidgeting, Sam glances around himself, paranoid now that everyone is listening in. He should have been more careful: he's a hunter, for God's sake! Then again, this is John Winchester, and he's one of the best damn hunters there ever was.

"I...I'm involved with Gabriel." It's easier to say than it is to explain, and Sam is fully aware of that. John frowns.

"Isn't Gabriel a he?" The suspicion is growing in his father's voice, as Sam raises his eyes, terrified, and utters a miniscule, barely audible 'yes'. He can see the moment when the penny drops and the switch flicks in his brain, lighting up a giant billboard telling him that his son's a giant faggot. Sam can see John's mouth open a little in surprise, and he cocks his head to one side, awkwardly.

"_Involved_, involved?" he confirms, his voice merely a wary, horrified whisper. Sam knows his father well enough to know he's fighting to keep the disgust out of his voice, and reluctantly appreciates his effort. He knows his father's opinion on the matter – it's wrong, and that's that. Then again, this is new John – John Winchester 2.0. Who knows what-

"Sam, you have to know that's wrong." Sam sighs, brokenly. Maybe not, then. The John Winchester he knew is still very much in the building.

"It's not wrong because I'm gay. And just so you know, I'm not gay," Sam tries to explain, as John recoils slightly at his choice in words. "I know I'm probably making another massive screw up like I did with Ruby, and I could really use a voice of reason right now-"

"Ruby?" John looks as though he's trying his best to patch together an incomplete timeline. "Ruby – she's the demon that... Sam!" Sam realises in a moment of complete pant-wetting terror that John knew nothing of his relations with Ruby, merely her role in Lucifer's rising. He glances around nervously, hoping for a weapon of some sort for the purposes of self defence. John's voice starts low, rising by the second to a shout. "Sam, did I teach you absolutely nothing? You never trust a demon, let alone screw one. I can understand how one can manipulate you into trusting you. Almost. Demons manipulate, we know that. But a demon girlfriend?" Sam chooses to leave out the technicality that she was more like a fuck buddy. Holding his hands out in front of him in what he hopes at least looks like a peaceful gesture, Sam attempts to calm his father.

John turns away, fingers turned in his hair as he tries to comprehend just how terrible the choices of his son were, and contemplating the full meaning of blissful ignorance.

"I know how it sounds, but... listen-" John shook his head, backing away and nearly tripping on a nearby crowbar.

"Oh no. Just keep on praying, Sam. Go ahead. I'll be inside, trying to stop the mess you've made because you couldn't keep it in your pants." Without anything further, John strides away, back towards Bobby's house, leaving Sam in an awkward and frustrating silence.

"Fuck," Sam mutters, kicking a nearby abandoned car tyre. It flops miserably onto its other side, succeeding only in aggravating him further. "Thanks for the visit, Gabriel. Let me know if you change your mind and decide to grow a pair." It's a good thing that Sam wasn't expecting his lover to respond to that, because he doesn't. Sam leaves the cars as he found them, shaking the rain from his hair as he walked. Their only ally is gone. His father once again hates him. Castiel may never wake up, and they may never solve the mystery of how to get out of their so called destiny. Lucifer had never tempted him more.

Dean is inside, methodically cleaning his guns with a deadened, empty gaze. Sam knows that gaze. Dean had that gaze for months after his return from Hell. It's not the pain that's eating him up from the inside out, despite his undeniable trauma. It's the guilt that really gets to Dean. Sam sits beside him and opens his computer, searching through his bookmarks and continuing his earlier research. It's the best he can do for Dean because it's the best that he's ever been able to do.

It seems to work though, because five minutes later, Dean is still cleaning his guns, but he's humming Metallica under his breath. And honestly, at this moment, with everything that was going on, it's the most that Sam can ask for.

...

Demons have been going missing. Not particular demons per se, but just the cretins in general. There were less recorded demonic possessions, less demonic omens, and less demon-related deaths, and while it would usually be a welcome sign to a hunter, it had the Winchesters and Bobby on red alert.

Having thought it best – the Harvelle women weren't known to stay in one place at a time, and Ellen wanted to keep her daughter as safe as possible – the hunters had agreed that they would go forth and spread the word. Someone needed to tell the hunters what was out there, why they were there and most importantly: how to kill them. Someone also needed to tell the hunters of America that although the apocalypse was their fault, the Winchesters aren't the evil sons of bitches trying to wipe them off the face of the planet. There was no one better for the job than Ellen, who had more contacts possibly than Bobby, and that was saying something.

And then of course there is John. All new and improved, entirely whole, impressive as it was, a miracle as it is, it looks pretty demonic from the outside looking in. The irony passes none of them by, but none of them say anything. There existed in the Singer household the unspoken rule that even though they all know they're fucked, it's never actually mentioned. The irony of Bobby being the most optimistic of them all doesn't pass Sam by either.

It's been almost a week since he lost contact with Gabriel. His soul and his body seem to be adamant to mourn the Archangel's absence, but his mind is keeping strong and denying them any conscious thought of Gabriel. It doesn't stop his dreams though. A welcome respite from Lucifer's reign, Gabriel no plagues his mind every time he closes his eyes. Sometimes they're hot, sticky dreams where Gabriel rides him; his eyes squeezed shut and singing his name. Other times they're nightmares of Gabriel, pinned down by an invisible force, screaming at him to leave. Both dreams are essentially the same, causing Sam to start awake, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, Gabriel's name lingering at the corners of his mouth.

Sam honestly doesn't know which dream tortures him more.

...

One day – a Sunday if any of them had bothered to keep tabs on the calendar – Bobby slams a map down on the table in front of Sam, making him jump. Halfway through eating a half-assed breakfast, Sam looks up at him, eyes wide in surprise.

"Bobby?" he asks, when he has swallowed and cleared his mouth. "You found something?" Bobby's glare says it all, so Sam turns his attention to the map before any weapons were brought to the table. Frowning, he flattened out the bends with one hand as he surveys the map of... "Wyoming?"

"Look closer, boy. Any place you recognise?" Looking closer, Sam realises that he does, with a horrible sinking feeling.

"The Devil's Gate?" he looks up, memories flashing. "The graveyard when we killed Yellow Eyes; what about it?"

"These red marks here are lightning storms and crop death." Eyes flickering over the map, Sam takes in all of the information while trying not to get the map in his cornflakes.

"The demons are congregating," he comments, grimly. "Only the strong ones though – stunt demons don't have this kind of juice." Bobby's eyes narrow.

"Spit it out, kid! If something big's happening we need to be there." Sam opens his mouth to obey but a voice answers for him.

"The Fallen." Bobby whips around so fast Sam's certain he must have caused himself an injury.

"The Fallen?" Castiel nods, walking slowly – and no doubt painfully – over to the kitchen table.

"The Fallen Angels who followed Lucifer during the first war." Silently, Sam and Bobby watch as Castel turns his attention to the map of omens. "They and the first demons are usually the only ones with enough," Castiel frowns, pausing as though he is deliberating how to say a foreign word. "_Juice_, to cause those effects on their surroundings." Sam feels his mouth curve into a smirk.

"It's great to see you up, man. We were worried." Castiel (predictably) cocks his head to the side curiously. The world according to Castiel is full of foreign concepts, but Sam's pretty sure even the introverted Angel can't take that the wrong way. Curiously, Castiel does not reply, sending Sam a soulful glance before slumping down into a dining chair with a very un-Castiel-esque sigh. Although Castiel wasn't in general an enthusiastic person, his lack of gusto is worrying Sam. Sharing a glance with Bobby, Sam turns back to the map in front of them. Silently, Bobby shuffles out of the room to find Dean.

"So these Fallen," Sam prompts, trying to keep the conversation away from Castiel's welfare, which is clearly a sore subject. "The Yellow Eyed demon was one of the Fallen, wasn't he?" Castiel nods with another woeful sigh, his expression so morose Sam has to do a double take. Apparently now, Castiel does expressions. Suddenly – and the feelings of his realisation is like a punch to the gut – Sam realises that their topic of conversation may be even less sensitive than the former. Glancing up at the falling angel, Sam tries to search for something inoffensive to say. He feels far too much like his brother when he says: "Want some pie?" and gestures impotently towards the apple pie on the counter.

Castiel looks at Sam, then down at the half eaten pie, then back up to Sam, before he bursts into tears.

...

Gabriel should have seen this coming. Really, he should have. A freaking Angel of the Lord, the strength of God, and he was so caught up in his teenage drama with Sam that he's lost all capability to do anything properly.

He means demons. Fucking demons got the jump on him. Sure, he could protest there were a lot of them, but in reality, there were only three. Three of the Fallen, so Gabriel doesn't know it that's better or worse. For his reputation, that is: he knows for a fact that it's so much worse for his situation.

He can see Cariel and Fachel pacing around the outskirts of the prison, knowing that if they entered they would become trapped too. But for now, Gabriel is safe, if powerless. Which isn't fun, by the way, and it's not helped by the distinct feeling that they are waiting for someone. He's running out of time, and he's running out of options. The escape attempt he had in mind had vanished the second they bound him into the circle of Enochian symbols – before they were just fences to keep the Fallen out but now they're cement walls, shutting him in.

So when Lucifer gets here, he's seriously fucked.


	10. No More Hiding

Chapter 10 - No More Hiding

.

Castiel has that very familiar 'the world's fucked me over and there aint a damn thing I can do about it' look on his face. It's pretty far from comforting.

Sam doesn't even know how to broach the whole Gabriel subject. John's already pissed at him, and from the fact that Dean's been short with him lets him know exactly how he feels about keeping secrets from them. It'll be even worse when Castiel finds out though. Sure, Dean would hate him, and think he's disgusting, but Castiel knows the dos and don'ts of angelic lovemaking and a demon boy wonder probably isn't high up on the list. On the other hand, Sam's pretty sure that technically there shouldn't even be a list, so he's thinks he's okay on that front. The angel wouldn't care about the gay thing, Sam suspects, like John does. But Sam is sleeping with a coward, who left the angels to live under the shadow of a grief-stricken and angry Michael, to fend for themselves. Gabriel is a betrayer, and a coward. Sam's consorting with the enemy, not screwing an ally. It's Ruby all over again, but this time, it's even worse because Gabriel's _supposed_ to be good.

Bobby appears back in the doorway next to a breathless Dean, who has clearly dropped everything and literally run to Castiel's side. He has a smear of something black on his cheek and he smells vaguely of white spirits. Sam would wager he's been working on the car, but doesn't dare to speculate how much of the clinical smell is turpentine and what is vodka.

"Cas," the nickname dies on Dean's lips. He can see the difference between this creature and Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Castiel was timeless and complete in his belief. This thing is young, broken and scared. Sam knows from experience that there's nothing more pitiful than an Angel with broken faith. Still, Fallen Cas is raising the bar set by his older brother by just being here.

"Dean." The voice is the same when he says Dean's name, despite the undeniable fear. "What's happening to me?" Sam looks away, feeling as though he's intruding upon a private encounter, and is met by John's dark glare, from the edge of the kitchen.

"The demons," Sam reminds them all, after a few moments wherein it becomes clear that neither his brother nor the Angel is going to do anything more than stare hopelessly at each other. "They're circling around the Devil's Gate. Dean, they have the Colt. They can open it." He can't help but to look at his father, and remember that night in the graveyard, those few long years ago, when they had succeeded in doing the unthinkable, completing their life's mission – killing Azazel. For the first time in days, John doesn't have disgust in his face when he looks back.

"Then we need to stop him," John says calmly, as though he's just informing them he's popping out for milk. Then again, this was the sort of thing that John Winchester used to be good at. This was his area of expertise. "We move out tomorrow, same plan as you took the graveyard." Dean shoots his father a raised eyebrow.

"You do realise that was practically a suicide mission, right?" he checks, and the corner of John's mouth twitches upwards, epitomising the macho Winchester opinion of dangerous situations.

"How did you escape?" Castiel frowns, cocking his head to the side. Sam freezes – he had been dreading when this question was going to come up. The other hunters turn to Sam for him to answer, and he finds himself lost for words. "Logic dictates that you would not be able to escape." They all ignore as Dean mutters something his logic dictating.

"We had some help," Sam stands up tall, unable to completely hide his terror. He wrings his hands, nervously, knowing that this is the moment that it all falls apart. He wishes that he'd been able to say no the first time he allowed Gabriel underneath his skin, because he's under no illusions: Gabriel's been under his skin since day one. "Gabriel got us out." The expression on Castiel's face darkens considerably.

"Gabriel?" he repeats, just for clarification.

"Gabriel," Sam replies, just for clarification. "He's the one who saved us from Raphael. Apparently something we've done impressed him." It was the wrong choice in words, Sam realises, as his father turns to leave the room, sliding the door shut with a loud bang. Sam tries to ignore him, while Dean is clearly torn whether to follow or stay with Castiel.

"Gabriel is flawed; he is a coward." Castiel didn't need to tell Sam twice, but he kept silent and allowed him to continue. "He ran from the first war. What makes you think he isn't part of enemy ranks?" Castiel appears adamant to dissuade Sam of his trust in Gabriel. This is it. This is the part where his whole plan falls apart because all he can do is set his jaw, brow contracted, complete unable to come up with an excuse. He doesn't know why he trusts Gabriel, but he does, with his life. The horrible fact that he trusted Ruby even more. He's not going to lie to them though; his family deserve better than that.

"We don't. We don't know if he's working with, or for Lucifer. Hell, it would make sense. They are brothers, and Gabriel's influence could tip the scales very much in the Devil's favour-"

"He wouldn't serve Lucifer." The certainty in Castiel's voice makes Sam know for sure that there's a lot of information that they don't know about Gabriel. It merely solidifies the suspicion that Castiel is aware of what they don't know, and has been keeping it from them. Why, Sam couldn't be sure. "He may be working for Michael out of misplaced loyalty." Not that Castiel is bitter...

"Why wouldn't he be working for Lucifer?" Dean barks, coming forwards to stand between his brother and the angel. "And right here, right now, everyone's going to stop being so damn cryptic. Someone has something to say, then fucking say it. That includes you, dad." Sam had not noticed John's silent return, and their father scowls at his eldest son's lack of respect. "Castiel, what is it that you know about Gabriel, that we don't?"

"Gabriel defied Lucifer's choice to destroy the humans not because he agreed with our Father. He wholeheartedly wanted the destruction of the humans when they were born. However, he loved peace more than his brothers, and would not stoop to fighting, even when Michael and Lucifer divided the Heavens, and even the Healer Raphael took up a place in battle." Castiel avoids Sam's eyes, and Sam wonders if he knows which thoughts and realisations he was experiencing. "Gabriel was very much meant to be Lucifer's General, as Raphael was Michael's. However, Gabriel protested the use of violence. Lucifer banned him, and Michael, thinking that he was one of the rebels, attempted to kill him." Sam jerks back, in surprise. He didn't know that version of the story.

"So it's not his fault that he left." Unsure of exactly what Castiel's point is, Dean speaks up. He sounds guilty, as though he had wrongly judged Gabriel. Castiel's eyes immediately darkened.

"He could have stayed to fight. If he had, we might not be in this situation." When all he receives for his words are four blank stares, he explains further. "Gabriel had a very large following. He blessed us with the word of the Father, who we never met. He was the Messenger, and the strength, of our father. And he left us." Sam understands the betrayal. He agrees with Castiel. He can't bring himself to blame Gabriel for that. "And what for: meaningless, Godless dalliances on Earth with Pagans?" He spits out the word 'Pagans' like it's acid on his tongue. "There is no longer anything angelic about Gabriel."

"Then why did he save us?" It is unsurprising that John is contributing. "Sam seems pretty convinced that he's not playing us."

"We've been there before," Dean had the decency to look ashamed to bring it up, refusing to look at his younger sibling. Sam shrinks into the background, and Bobby looks to the floor. "He had no idea about Ruby – neither of us did." Sam knows he was trying to soften that blow, and is grateful for it. Dean is always the big brother, trying to protect him, from their father's blame, even though he agrees with it.

"Then the better to trust him with these decisions," John argues, and Sam freezes, wondering what his angle is. Dean appears also confused, but there's no doubting the expression on Bobby's face: he agrees with their father. And rare and occasion as it was, Sam has to ask:

"What kind of twisted logic is that?" because even he doesn't know how the hell John reached that conclusion while sober. Dark eyes seek him out, analysing his every move, and there's no less anger than there was before.

"Successes only last a few hours, but failures last a lifetime. Sam's never going to forget how he almost singlehandedly destroyed the human race." Bobby sighs – John's nothing but blunt. "He's going to remember that mistake for the rest of his life. He's never going to seek out trust again. My guess is he didn't want to trust Gabriel, like he wanted to trust the demon." He doesn't even bother to use her name, and Sam's glad. "And if I know my son half as well as I think I do then I'd go as far as to say that he never really trusted Ruby again, he just wasn't as good at the game she was playing." Sam doesn't know how much of that he agrees with, but he continues to listen to his father's odd speech, wondering briefly if he was possessed and it was Meg screwing with them again. "Doesn't matter anyway. Gabriel's not coming back." Dean's head snaps back and forth between them.

"What do you mean – why?" he asked, sharply, demanding answers faster than they were being doled out. "Will someone just tell me what the fuck you clearly all know about?"

Sam would love to say that he admits to their relationship then and there, and tells his brother the whole and undiluted truth, but he can't. His mouth opens, and nothing comes out but air. He's lying by omission, again. It's like he's started the apocalypse all over again, and there's no stopping the guilt that's piling up inside his gut. John saves him the trouble of forming coherent speech.

"Gabriel's in love with Sam." Arms spread wide, Sam stares at his father, unable to believe that even _he_ has that little tact.

"Dude!" Dean's reaction would have been hilarious had it not been so terrifying. He mouths for a while, and leans back on the table, frowning as he attempts to order his thoughts into something that resembles sense. Bobby's expression doesn't change as the bomb hits, except the minute rising of one eyebrow. By far though, the most priceless reaction is Castiel's, who frowns and cocks his head to the side in so much likeness to his former glory that Sam finds it hilarious, before:

"You are both male," he brings his pointless observation to the attention of all four men. Dean gives a tiny, hysterical laugh, but offers no more, and Sam suspects he's in shock. Homophobia isn't even the worst part of their affair, but Sam foresees it being the main bone of contention in the arguments which are bound to follow, for lack of anything else to label the relationship with. The split second which it takes Castiel to realise the implications of it all later, he adds, still without expression: "That is not what God intended." That's all it takes and Dean dissolves into laughter, manically allowing the stress which had been building up for weeks flow out, in the most disturbing way possible. All that Sam can do is wait for his brother to finish, and hope desperately that the next words out of his mouth are not going to be: "Get the fuck away from me, freak". Instead, when he has recovered, he merely stares at his brother, with incredulity in his eyes, and asks:

"Can't you sleep with a _human_ every now and again?" Sam swallows, and gives a half-shrug. "Seriously, that's why you've been all secretive about meeting him? You two are... yeah." Dean fixes Sam with his best 'big brother' face. "That's fucked up, Sammy."

"You think I don't know that? It just happened, okay?" Castiel is still staring at him as though he's just kicked a puppy, but Sam resolutely ignores him. "But he's not coming back."

"Why? Argument about who's on top?" Wincing at Dean's blasé attitude, Sam frowns.

"No, he's just a fucking coward." He hadn't realised when he became angry, but apparently he is now. "Now what are we going to do about Wyoming?" He hears a rustling of the map, and turns to see Bobby poring over it. "Those demons aren't going to stab themselves, and if we leave it any longer who knows how many demons are going to be topside." Although he agreed, Dean shook his head.

"We need to talk about this or something-"

"No, Dean." Sam tries to keep any doubt from entering his voice, standing up with a sense of finality. "We need to dig the world out of the mess we got it into. I'm going to Wyoming. You can follow when you get a hold on your priorities." Grabbing his duffel which was lying on the floor by the leg of the table, Sam stalks away, pissed that Dean would speak to him like that. They could go for months without so much as a whole sentence passing between them, and suddenly, when they're in the middle of a crisis, Dean wants to talk about his feelings? Sure, he's just found out that his brother's gay for archangels, and Heaven's an even more screwed up place than he had originally thought, but that is no reason for the sudden change of heart. Sam refuses outright to acknowledge that he may not want to talk not out of defiance, but rather out of complete and utter fear that when that conversation ends, so would the reliance and the close friendship they had been forming for the past five years. He doesn't think he could live with losing Dean, not after everything.

...

He can feel the second when his brother arrives. In the presence of a truly powerful inter-dimensional creature, something _shifts_. Hunters see the symptoms of power: electrical storms, crop failure, while Gabriel can feel the depression in the actual fabric of reality. He knows that Lucifer has arrived, and he knows that he is completely at his brother's mercy. After all of those years ago, when he swore he would never fight for the angel who he believed in the most, he had been right. Gabriel had been trying to convince himself of that for millennia, but right now, with the weight of the situation hammering down on his Grace, he couldn't find any solace in that persuasion.

"Brother." The way Lucifer speaks is magnetic, and Gabriel takes a deep breath, trying not to look up even though he desperately wishes to. He wants to see his brother, finally, after so much time has passed. Gabriel says nothing, so the Devil continues. He can hear footfalls, over the excited hisses of the Fallen who skitter reverently in his brother's wake. "I thought at first that you were dead. With all the loss in Heaven, I couldn't differentiate whose death was whose. It was only when I rose again that I realised the four were still alive." He can almost hear the smirk Lucifer wears. "And very alive you were. Not that I could find you, of course."

Sighing, admitting that there was utterly no way that he would get out of this situation, Gabriel glanced upwards, managing somehow not to wince at the mangled mess of hideous Grace that Lucifer was burning with. For one that was once so beautiful, Gabriel is having a hard time believing his brother is the blackened soul standing before him.

"You have a little..." Gabriel motions on his own cheek, mirroring the burned flesh of Lucifer's barely composed vessel. His brother looks less than amused. "and Sweet Ghandi, what have you done to your hair?" Behind Lucifer, the Fallen trade glances, unsure if he can really do that. But Gabriel thinks: what the Hell? Who's going to be coming to save him anyway? Might as well get as much sarcasm into his dying moments as possible.

"You've changed somewhat," Lucifer notes, with a slight – and surprising – smile. "But you still like your tricks." Gabriel shrugs.

"It's been said," he concedes. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods? Is it recreational or is it for a good old-fashioned racial cleansing?" Lucifer smirks.

"There's a difference?" Gabriel grimaces. "I was hoping that we could have a chat." Nervously, the younger angel shifts, very highly aware that none of his power was with him, instead being forced behind a wall by the Enochian symbols. He knows that for Lucifer to actually hurt him, he will have to either let Gabriel out of the spell, or throw things at him. Gabriel sincerely hopes it was the former so he could hightail it out of here.

"Chat away, Cathy." It is obvious from his movements that Lucfier knows Gabriel's scoping out the exits, probing at the symbols, testing how strong he is. These symbols meant a near death state to your average angel, but Gabriel isn't quite the same as the rest of them. For starters, he was still a little bit Pagan, even if Loki had died when Dean drove that steak through his chest, and these symbols don't mean shit to Pagans.

"Why are you helping the humans?" asks Lucifer, his voice soft and oddly melodic as it rings through the warehouse. It's a great empty space here, like the one that Dean and Sam had left him in. "You interfered with Michael's word."

"Does that make you angry?" Gabriel mocks, pushing against the forces holding him back experimentally. They don't budge and his brother smiles.

"Why yes, it does," the Devil replies smoothly. "You see, there are rules in this war we're fighting. You of all people know that we cannot choose, like the humans can. Instead, we can merely follow the path which is meant to be."

"You're talking about the end." The apocalypse, the rapture, you name it, they call it the end; it is what happens the Earth falls under the war between Heaven and Hell. His brothers are the commanders of Heaven and Hell… is Gabriel expected to act Earth's saviour out of literary symmetry? "And the humans are collateral damage."

"I seem to remember a time when you weren't in favour of the humans, Gabriel," Lucifer muses, dangerously, as he walks slowly in a circle around Gabriel's prison. "In which case, you'll like the next part good enough."

"Which is?" When Lucifer casts him a frown, Gabriel opens his arms wide. "Who am I gonna tell if you kill me?"

"Oh, I'm not here to kill you…" The vessel has deteriorated further since Lucifer has entered the warehouse. Any longer without drinking demon blood and his guts would be sliding down his legs, blackened and oozing. "But I suppose you're right in that you're not going to tell."

"Well that's not foreboding at all," Gabriel mutters, but his brother ignores him.

"Do you know where we are? Can you feel it?" Lucifer knows fine well the symbols mean Gabriel can't feel anything past this room, and he scowls in response. "We're in Wyoming. Nice little place… and it's here I'll find my army." Gabriel knows about Wyoming: he knows Sam's history as he's seen it in his lover's dreams. The Devil's gate.

"So you have the key?" Just for a split second, the look on Lucifer's face is enough to tell Gabriel he doesn't, but he lies anyway.

"Yes. Soon I'll have my army." Gabriel shrugs, sitting down on the floor. He's tired of standing, and it's not like it's helping his predicament.

"Soon. Why not now?" The Devil glares at him, and the thought does occur – somewhat distantly – that perhaps he shouldn't provoke the vast cosmic power prowling around him in a cracked bottle. Explosions weren't going to go well for either one of them right now. "If you have your key."

"We don't have the key," Lucifer snaps, aware that Gabriel already knows. "But we will soon."

"The Winchesters seem to be under the opinion that Lilith has the key." He can't help it: it's going to get him killed, but he asks anyway. What can he say? HE's curious to see who's double-crossing who these days. "Demons definitely have it, or I'd know about it."

"Even if you knew about it, you'd still not tell me."

"Don't be so sure of that, bro." Settling his legs in the most comfortable cross-legged position, he wiggled his shoulder to loosen them up. "I have absolutely no loyalty to anyone."

"You've been associating with the Winchesters."

"Recreationally. They amuse me."

"They are vessels, and not yours to play with." Lucifer sounds like he's scolding him for some minor indiscretion. He sounds like the old Lucifer for a moment, but then Gabriel looks up and he's blacker, more twisted than he ever used to be. "They are not meant for you."

"They seem to think they're not meant for you, either." Suddenly, Lucifer snarls, and just for a second, his body infuses with bright Grace, tinged red with the stench of his betrayal. Gabriel draws back, shocked as just how ugly his brother now is. He used to be the most beautiful of them all, but one could not imagine that looking at him now.

"Enough," he barks, waving one hand. Outside, it begins to hail, a thunderous din. The three Fallen circle around the edges of the warehouse, watching Gabriel hungrily, as though after Lucifer is done with him, they'd be able to eat their fill. Then again, to a certain extent, that's probably the plan. "No more quips, Gabriel. A long time ago you were my brother, and if you had not lost your courage you would have been my general." A long time ago, he would have protested, and said that he did it for peace, not cowardice, but now Gabriel is wise, and keeps his overly large mouth shut. "And I have not forgotten who you really are."

"Brother…" he breathes, inching as close as his binds will allow. "Brother, we've _both_ forgotten who we are." Just for a second, the Devil freezes, but then he turns away.

"Very well. We'll just have to make you remember." Without a second glance, Gabriel's brother flies away in a flash of red Grace, leaving Gabriel with only the advancing Fallen for company.

…


	11. When Plans go Awry

_Just to let you know: I have terrible eyesight, Word with autocorrect and I touch type. All this results in: terrible grammar and worse spelling even after editing. If it's unforgiveable, give me a shout and I'll go over again to clear it all up but this story isn't a priority for me right now, so I probably won't return to clear up little errors. In the spirit of pragmatism, I spend most of my time feeding the big fish. Enjoy! X_

…

Chapter 11 - When Plans go Awry

The plan, if it can be called a plan, is to take the demons unawares. This goes out of the window the second they cruise through a gas station and John realizes they're being watched by black eyes from behind the kiosk. The latter half of the plan – do as much damage as possible – is limited when ten or so demons appear, led by a familiar face, and pace around their motel room.

"Hello boys," Meg says, in a drawl, but she's less focused on them. "Johnny." John tenses; the demons haven't seized him as they have with Castiel and Dean. They're much more wary of Sam and his father. This is clearly a mistake, as Dean managed to toss salt down one of their throats, but within seconds Meg is upon him and his small rebellion is ended.

"What do you want?" Dean finally chokes out, once he's recovered from the blow to his stomach.

"That's better," Meg chirps. "Much more polite." Then she turns to round on John, ignoring Dean completely. "You're a wanted man, Johnny." John says nothing, but throws one sideways look at Sam, who is currently running through all of the possible outcomes of this scene. None of them were pretty. "What, no answer?" She sounds almost disappointed.

"I didn't hear a question," John explains, flatly. Meg sighs, and shrugs, before prowling on. When she nears Sam, his older brother throws all of his weight against the demons holding him. Castiel stands hopelessly, his struggles vastly less effective than Dean's.

"And you are a _very_ wanted man, Sammy." Sam grits his jaw, but Meg's black eyes don't relent and he can't help but to remember when she had taken control of his body; made him do all of those things. Smiling, Meg crossed her arms. "My boss is so glad you chose to join us."

"Your boss is going to be sorely disappointed," he puts as much force as he can, but she's not fooled. He's shitting it, and she knows it. "Because my answer's always going to be no."

"Your mouth says no, your eyes say yes," mocks Meg happily, rocking on her heels. Then, tiring of the conversation, she begins to walk towards the door, raising one hand as she goes. "Let's go, boys." She clicks her fingers and everything blackens.

…

When they wake, Sam can barely stand, and Dean looks a dangerous shade of white. Castiel is huddled in a corner, trenchcoat pooled on the ground, and Sam curses them for even bringing him along at all. The angel was powerless after he saved them from Zachariah, and he knows nothing about hunting, while they'd grown up wielding knives. He can't even shoot a gun, and they brought him on a suicide mission. If Sam didn't already know for certain he was going to Hell, he'd be worried.

"Shit," says Dean, bluntly, and he's leaning over, hands firmly on his knees. "And I thought angel travel was bad."

"Your travel sickness aside: where are we?" Sam glances around himself, but that in itself gives no clue. It's a closed room, rectangular, as spacious as it was moldy (that is: extensively). "I'm getting a really bad feeling about this."

"You're not the only one," Castiel replies, while Dean wills himself to keep his road food down. "I cannot find out where we are."

"It's okay, Cas," Dean forces out, with an unconvincing smile. When he stands, he stumbles, but makes his way over to where his brother stands. "Nothing?" Sam shakes his head. "Where are Dad and Bobby?"

"I don't think they were brought." After all, why would they be needed? "The place is loaded with demons, that much I can smell," the air was thick with sulphurous fumes. "But apart from that, I can only imagine." Lucifer won't be far behind the demons he knows for certain, which means there's no escape now. "This is it." There's consternation in Dean's green eyes as they lock gaze, and both trade a silent mantra. Whatever happens, don't say yes.

The heavy iron door springs open as though it weighs nothing, and in walks Meg, flanked by her crew. They are all male, all their eyes flicker black as they look on Sam. One smiles, but Sam ignores them, his eyes fixed on Meg.

"Hello boys, miss me?" Giving Dean a wary look, and skirting around him – he is wheezing slightly and keeps making strange lurching movements – she saunters up to Sam, brazen as always. "The captain will see you now."

"What if we don't want to see the captain?" Clearly expecting his resistance, Meg merely laughs as his defiance.

"That would just be rude. We've paid for your room and everything." Even she looks disgusted looking around their accommodation. "And I really think that you'd like to come with us." Casting the fallen angel an amused glance, she nods to one of her demon men and he grabs Castiel's arm, disappearing immediately. Dean shouts his protest throatily, but to no avail, and Meg's only response is to push him backwards onto the wall with one fluid flick of her fingers. "Come on Sammy. Let's just do this like the old friends we are."

"If Lucifer wants me he can come and get me." It's a feeble attempt at power, but a strong show of defiance. After all, principle is mostly what he's riding on these days. After Ruby, he doesn't really give a crap about the rest of the world, but that doesn't mean that Lucifer can saunter in and destroy the place. It is mostly a matter of principle why he's fighting this war, so he might as well stick to his guns. As soon as the words have left his mouth Meg's face turns so ugly he can scarcely imagine her host as beautiful at all.

"Listen you pathetic excuse-"

"Azrea." Just that one word holds so much power that Meg quails, though when she backs away and cowers under her master's glare, she looks confused. Lucifer's scarred vessel is unthinkably average, but Sam can feel the room about them roil, a gut-clenching cold coursing along his skin. "Please, desist. I'm certain Azazel taught you manners."

"Yes. My apologies, father." There is fear in her face; her team of demons looks close to wetting themselves. "The angel Castiel is with Farrow. He will be interrogated." Lucifer nods, curtly, though he looks disappointed. Clearly, Castiel is of no importance to him right now.

"No need. Kill him: I have a better one." Meg looks unsure, if just for a second.

"He is already Fallen, my Lord." For a moment, Lucifer looks as though he might reconsider, but merely waves his hand in dismissal. Meg disappears within a second, eyes wide and reverent, deaf to Dean's hoarse threats.

"Now, where were we?" Lucifer cocks his head to the side. "It's taken me far too long to find you, Sam." A hand grasps on Sam's shoulder, and Dean pushes himself between them, ready to defend his little brother. Dean is ignorant that Sam knows the first rule of John Winchester's code, but he'll follow it to the death. _Take care of Sammy_.

"I know, I know, you're the most powerful thing in the room," Dean begins, and Sam can see the entire situation devolving as Lucifer narrows his eyes. "But you know what I think?"

"No, but I'm absolutely certain you're about to tell me," Lucifer replies, silkily. Dean smirks, swaying slightly and with horror, Sam realizes what's about to happen before even his brother can.

"I…" Dean lurches over unexpectedly, and vomits on the Devil's feet. There's a communal sharp intake of breath from the assembled demons, and Sam thinks that perhaps they're regretting the method of transport now. Certainly, Sam was regretting buying Dean that pie at the last gas station before they rolled into town. Brazenly, Dean spits to the side, and straightens up, so he is face to face with Lucifer again. Then he clears his throat and gestures towards the ground vaguely. "Not what I was going to say, but I suppose it pretty much sums it up." The next second he is pinned against the far wall by invisible force, and Lucifer's lip is curled as he snarls:

"Luckily for you, you're needed by my beloved brother." The venom in his voice makes Sam shiver, and the room grows colder as he steps closer, one arm outstretched towards Dean but eyes fixed just on Sam. "You know my terms, Sam. I know you won't say yes now, but I think you also know what it's going to take." He gestures around himself. "Let's start slow, shall we?" Frowning, Sam throws a look at Dean, who's too busy trying to find purchase on the metal wall to stop himself from strangulation.

"You wanna start anything, you're gonna have to let my brother go." Dean crumples onto the ground immediately, and leans over to retch again. A nearby demon is splattered slightly, and hisses as he jumps away. Lucifer ignores them, blue eyes not leaving Sam's face.

"Good to see we're communicating." Sam isn't. "Now let me tell you what you can do for me." Apart from the obvious, he honestly can't think of anything. "You have something I want."

"Apart from my permission?" Could this be a trick? San knows better than to trust this creature, and he makes sure to guard his words carefully. He doesn't know if it's a valid agreement if he doesn't realize he's agreeing, but all the same, he thought it better to be safe than to be very sorry.

"That thing you were no doubt hoping to kill me with." Sam could have laughed at the irony, but he feared too much for his life.

"You're going to have to do a lot more for me then." Dean looks confused and Sam hopes to God that he doesn't give the game away. They should be able to get to round two easily without distraction: finding out what it is Lucifer needs from them. Sam's always been good at poker, but Dean doesn't know he has a tell.

"Oh I am?" Lucifer sounds amused. "How about I let your brother go? Would you like that?" Sam can't deny that he would.

"You're going to give him to Michael anyway. It's what you believe has to happen." Lucifer decides to let that one go, clearly, because he doesn't comment. "Letting him go doesn't make a bit of difference."

"You misunderstand me, Sam." With a wave of his hand, Lucifer vamooses the puke at his feet, and steps closer. "If you give me the colt, then I'll let your brother go _before_ I let Azrea have her way with him." Sam's eyes widen fractionally, but Lucifer thankfully misunderstands his surprise for horror. "Azrea's used you before, kind of like I will use you. She tells me Azazel told her to, but sometimes I secretly think she just likes to play God." Sam frowns.

"You're not God. You never will be." Whether it was his hatred for the Devil or his dedication to his lost faith speaking, he knew he meant it strongly. Lucifer stares at him levelly, then shrugs casually.

"Not yours." He jerks his head towards the demons. "But I am God in most eyes." Did Lucifer really see _them_ as rebels? Disbelievingly, he glances around at Dean, who's managed to pull himself to his feet, holding his shoulder which had slammed into the door first. "Now do we have a deal?"

"Save Cas," Dean manages to force out, before a demon clouts him over the head, and he's on the floor again. "Sammy, I've lived through worse." The same demon hits him in the stomach, and Sam freezes. Lucifer holds up one hand and a wide-eyed Meg appears, an angel's blade in hand. Straightening up, she looks between them all.

"Have you killed the angel?" Impotently, she brandishes the blade.

"Not yet. You've changed your mind?" There is blood flecked across her cheek, and she licks some of it off as she stares at Lucifer, waiting for orders.

"I've changed my mind." He glances around, then narrows his eyes. "You left him alone with Gabriel, didn't you?" Sam straightens up, and before he can stop himself, he's whispered his lover's name. His lover who hasn't replied to his prayers, and he'd forsaken for a coward. Fast as a shot, Lucifer's blue eyes are cutting through him again, and they're full of shock.

"You brought me here," Meg hurries to say, frozen, not knowing what is expected of her. It's not strictly her fault she left the angel alone, and she doesn't know how to remedy it. "Father?"

"Go back. If you lost my prize you'll be the one to burn." Flinching, Meg backs away and disappears, flustered and desperate. Sam could see the panic she was brimming with, and hopes she fails. Despite all of the things she's done to them, he also hopes she can run fast enough to get away, because Lucifer is not someone Sam sees as forgiving. "Sam. Tell me of how you and Gabriel met."

"We tried to hunt him." It is a plausible story, and true as well. Lucifer cocks his head to one side, and Dean struggles against the hold of a demon on the other side of the vault. "We thought he was a Trickster at first."

"And now you know who he is?"

"Gabriel's not a common name when it comes to supernatural beings." Lifting one finger, Lucifer pauses, inhaling deeply. At first Sam flinches, because he thinks perhaps he will hurt Dean again, before he realizes he's just trying to punctuate a point.

"Well that part of the story I completely believe." He frowns. "And I think I believe why Gabriel's suddenly acting so chivalrous." Awkwardly Sam shifts, and Lucifer's eyes light up. "So I was right."

"Right about what?" Sam fronts up. When a scream echoes through the building, through the open door, all the demons save for the one holding Dean disappear before even Lucifer can command it. After all, they're Meg's men before they're the Devil's, regardless of his power and influence. Loyalty isn't a purely human trait, Sam knows. "Hey, I'm talking to you." Something's going wrong, and Lucifer's weighing his actions. Backing away, Sam's back hits the wall and stares at the Devil, listening to Dean shouting madly for Castiel.

"Gabriel!"

…

Gabriel doesn't need to sleep. In fact, he finds it very boring, because he cannot dream; angels can never dream. The Fallen dream, like demons and humans dream. Castiel dreams, of course, but he's falling, and they're mostly memories from the garrison. They never deviate from purpose, or fact. It was risky, giving Castiel the dream about John, but he couldn't fine well come out and say it, could he? That would mean admitting that he's taking sides.

Overall though, he doesn't know why he's surprised. This is what always happens in the movies. The 'friends with benefits' - if that could be used to describe his and Sams's twisted relationship – routine always falls down to true love, or some shit like that. Here, it's even simpler. Here, it's just that he doesn't want Sam to die. And he doesn't want him to suffer worse, either, which would be happening if he _hadn't_ taken sides. And could possibly be happening now, for all he knows. Lucifer could come back in wearing Sam, and that would be awkward for everyone involved.

Gabriel opens his eyes to the sight of a demon, lurking in the darkness near him.

"Wanna play some go-fish?" he calls, mockingly, and the demon tilts its head, curiously. Gabriel's more than a little shocked to realize when the demon comes into the light that it's not a demon at all. "Sariel." He sits bolt upright, from where he was lying on his back, staring at the boring ceiling. "What are you doing here?" The childish hope in him hopes for rescue, but the hardened creature he is speaks sense in his ear. Sariel has followed Lucifer, and she's here to see if it's true.

"My brother," she breathes, and Gabriel can still see the righteous purity his brothers were born with. She follows Lucifer because she believes in him, not because she is evil, despite what the Winchesters seem to think. Then again, the Winchesters have never been particularly good at seeing the shades of grey. "What has happened to you?"

"You should see the other guy," he jokes, but it's lost on her. With the Enochian wards so strong – fortified by Lucifer himself – Gabriel could not do so much as to heal himself, and instead had taken to lying in his own blood. It could be worse: at least he doesn't have the other bodily processes that he knows for a fact fallen angels have to deal with. He does not envy Castiel's introduction into the world of toilets, but he hopes to be there when Deano has to give him the tutorial.

"They have tortured you."

"You sound affronted."

"I am." He cuts her a look which comes out scathing.

"You're one of them, Sariel. Don't pretend you don't know what happens in Luci's camp." She inclines her head, face suddenly stormy. It was once known across the lands that when Sariel was angry, she could whip up a storm big enough to kill a continent. Back then though, it was okay because Sariel never got angry. She was the most peaceful angel there was, standing by Gabriel's side as he spoke out against the violence his brothers were condoning. "What happened to you?"

"Lucifer is in the right," she says, certainly. "With God gone…" her voice cracks. "I just want to be home again."

"Home's gone. Home left the moment He did." Truth be told, Gabriel can barely remember when God left. His presence was so infinite, so mighty that it did not adhere to any sense of time. Perhaps he was gone for longer than everyone else might think. "Lucifer will give you a burned shell of a planet, and seven billion bodies to soothe your conscience about killing our brothers."

"You never used to care for the humans." Gabriel snorts, and thinks of Sam.

"I know. But I do now. They're nice little creatures. Weak, painfully imbecilic at times, but ultimately, they try." They can _choose_. Give a human two options, they can say no and choose a third instead. Angels weren't made with that luxury. "And that's what matters." Sariel is watching him, unconvinced, but he had not expected to sway her. Instead, she steps backwards into the shadows, and he's alone once more as she flies away. To spread the word perhaps, or tell Lucifer that she cannot convince him either. It would be clever, sending Sariel, but she wouldn't come to him with the intent of manipulating him; she was too pure. Lucifer would need to lie. Then again, Gabriel doesn't think lying is really going to make a big difference on the Devil's ledger.

…

It's almost like a broken record when Gabriel wakes again, after the Fallen have had their way with him. He's flat on his back again, flinching as the drips of stagnant water fall from the ceiling. Every drop hurts, splitting into a hundred of pins attacking his skin on impact. The noise deafens in the silent warehouse, the drips roll down his neck, thoroughly wetting his collar. He has no energy to brush them away, and his bonds keep him contained, whatever direction he pulls.

"Gabriel." A dark, snide voice in his ear echoes, and Gabriel sighs, watching calmly as the next drip gathers, an odd thirty feet above him on a steel rafter. If they think he'll bow to water torture they are sorely misguided. He closes his eyes, so it doesn't splash into his eye as it falls.

"Ah, a new interrogator." Time doesn't pass in his binds like it should, but his body has completely healed from the last Fallen's visit. Lancath, formerly Lariel of Lucifer's war council, shrieks in pure glee that his prisoner is finally speaking. First Sariel, now Lariel. Certainly, Lariel always had an oddly psychotic streak to him, unlike kind, sweet Sariel. "Just one thing: I thought you died at Sodom." Even through the agonizing sting of his bonds, Gabriel can see the burns and lesions on Lancath's soul, where righteous fire had blazed through his very being. He's almost proud of Castiel's garrison for that one. Lancath the demon growls at him, seething and prowling in a circle around the Archangel's cage. Gabriel is completely unable to conjure fear from his display. Lancath was one of the few Fallen left after thousands of years of being hunted and hated, but Gabriel still outranks him. Fallen or not, that's not something an angel can readily forget.

"I survived Sodom," the demon barks self-importantly, strolling around with his head held high. His host is long deal, murdered solely by the ferocity of his soul's potency.

"Captain Obvious strikes again," announces Gabriel, dryly. He hates monologues when he's not the one posturing.

"Lucifer," Lancath continues dramatically, ignoring his jibe, but looks vaguely insulted when Gabriel interrupts him with a loud, wet raspberry.

"Lucifer smucifer. Daddy's away, kid. It's just you and me tonight." Lancath flies closer, almost startling the Archangel as his charred soul spits and turns inside its empty vessel. Gabriel can smell the death on his body, and has to turn his face away. "Try again, kid. I'm not scared of you."

"In that case roomie," Lancath hisses, cocking his head to the side in a horrible likeness to the newly Fallen Castiel. "Let's play a game shall we?" The bonds holding him down disappear with a snap of the Fallen's long grimy claws, and Gabriel stands within his cage, frowning at the monster.

"You shouldn't have done that," he informs the cretin, matter-of-factly, stretching his arms and shoulders. He knows that Lancath's pride is too great to be swayed by something so insignificant as pragmatism, and that his hatred for the 'Peaceful General' runs too hot for him to ignore. That was always the real problem with the Fallen. Give them choice, and they get unpredictable. Castiel certainly did.

"Get up and play, coward." Lancath's pointed white teeth are bared. "Fight like you should have."

"Haven't you heard? I don't condone angel-on-angel violence." The humor he pushes into his voice feels hollow. "Mind you, you're pretty far from angel, so I'm sure we could make an exception." Gabriel's exhaustion isn't particularly conducive for a fair fight in his favor, but a Fallen was no match for him still.

"Well that's appropriate." Gabriel narrows his eyes in slight confusion. "You're not much of an angel anymore either, Messenger." Gabriel can smell a trick a mile off, and this isn't one. The wroth is pouring off Lancath in waves of choking sulphur. It is handy that Gabriel doesn't need to breathe; as it's so thick in the air he can almost _see_ it.

"I wonder if Lucifer knows you're here," ponders Gabriel lightly.

"Our brother has his vessel," Lancath boasts, brazenly, and something in Gabriel's chest snaps loose. "He is-" Both Fallen and Archangel turn their heads to look when two figures appear nearby. "Azrea." Lancath sounds accusing; he loathes that he's been interrupted before he can finish what he started with Gabriel. "What are you doing." Gabriel's eyes were on Castiel.

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Azrea waves one hand towards Gabriel, and lets go of Castiel's arm to place her other on her hip. "Kind of important when it comes to prison management that the guards are told about all the inmates."

"You're just a demon, Azrea. Why would we tell you anything?" Smiling slightly, Azrea saunters forwards, and arches one eyebrow.

"Because I am in control of this facility, and I outrank you, Lancath. Starting to regret that stunt in Seattle?" Gabriel doesn't know what they're talking about, but it's the distraction he's been hoping for. With his bonds gone, the cage is just an obstacle: difficult, but not impossible to overcome. "Well you should be." Lancath's hissing at her now, and he's wriggling his Grace, testing it. It's just out of his reach, but he's bent stronger bars before.

"What's this? No one told me we had another recruit?" Azrea stops her taunting to look over her shoulder at Castiel, who stands awkwardly in the centre of the room where she had left him. Rolling her eyes, she crooks one finger at him, and he narrows his eyes in reply. Then, using her power, she drags him forwards, until he's on his knees in front of her. Throwing a sideways glance at Lancath, she winks, and suddenly they're grinning at each other, all hostility forgotten. Gabriel will never understand the complexities of demon interaction.

"What do you think of that, Clarence?" Azrea continues to posture. "Gonna join our ranks? You'd be so much more powerful than you are now." Azrea is an interrogator, but her convincing skills are rusty. She likes blood, not words, and that shows. Castiel shakes his head, resolute, and the demon Azrea shrugs, turning to the demon Lancath. "What about yours?" In a panic, Gabriel pushes himself at the walls of his cage, desperate to break out before Lancath turns around and hits him while he's stuck.

"He's saying nothing. He claims that the Winchesters don't have the Colt." Castiel frowns, and Gabriel almost groans. Castiel has even less experience than Gabriel in situations like these, but he's terrible at improvisation.

"They don't." Azrea crouches by him, holding the blade of an angel – Gabriel's to preoccupied to figure out who's – with the tip scratching against his cheek.

"They don't?" She's wary, looking out for lies, as though she is still to realize Castiel used to be an angel of the Lord and isn't really capable of deceit. "Tell me then: how did they lose it?" The Colt is a failing on her part, that much Gabriel knows. She was meant to obtain it from John, but the Winchesters had tricked her. Thankfully, Lucifer had still been underground at this stage, and she hasn't been burned yet for this failure. Now, she's trying to fix her mistake, and is desperate to believe anything.

"It was stolen from them, then handed off to Lilith." Lancath rears up immediately in dispute, but Azrea just stares at Castiel as though he's said something which makes her incredibly nervous. Certainly, Azrea is smarter than Lancath, and she's probably starting to realize that it's a problem on their end, not on the Winchesters'. Azrea opens her mouth to say something more, but disappears before she says anything, leaving Lancath looking around himself suspiciously, and Castiel blinking in confusion.

And finally, Gabriel's out, and he feels like he's just healed from a thousand tiny fragments of vessel, and the feeling of becoming whole again is undoubtedly as good as sex, if not better. Lancath turns around, hands raised in the air, but he's too late and Gabriel pushes his Grace through the demon, burning him to ash on the floor.

"Gabriel." It looks as though Castiel's only just realized he's there, but then again, evaluating Castiel's thoughts is difficult at the best of times with a face like that.

"Cas-Cas," Gabriel acknowledges, and inhales sharply. Smiting Lancath wouldn't usually be that big a deal for something like him, but he has been in isolation for what feels like years and he's pretty damn tired. "Where's tweedle-dum and tweedle-dean?"

"They are… at another location." Castiel avoids his eye. "With Lucifer." Something which had been drawn taut in his chest for the past fortnight snaps then, and the breath is forced from his chest.

"Has he…" Waving impotently with one hand, Gabriel clears his throat. "said the magic word?"

"If by the magic word you mean yes, then no, I don't think so." Castiel shifts uncomfortably. "Not unless he loses Dean." They both know the reality. Sam isn't as strong as they'd all like to think him, and Gabriel knows that. He tried to teach Sam how to deal with his brother's death, but Sam refused to let go then. He would have hoped that the whole Archangel vessel thing would have changed his perspective on that, but apparently not. He'd still give up the whole world for his brother's pain to end. That's what brothers do.

"We need to get there." Stretching his arms, Gabriel pauses, and sends his brother a glare. "Now, Cas."

"Oh, right." Castiel reaches out two fingers, but before they make contact, the Archangel holds up his hand and gives the Fallen a sympathetic glance. "Oh, _right_." Clearing his throat, Castiel gives him directions, and he leaves his little brother behind before he can protest he's needed. He's gotten enough angels killed and he doesn't want one as unassumingly and sickeningly pure as Castiel to be one of the running total. That would just make him feel bad.

"Gabriel!" He hears Sam shout as he draws near, and suddenly he's staring back at Lucifer, except this time he's not in chains.


	12. Face-off

Chapter 12 – Face-off

It's a funny thing about angels: that they can't feel. Gabriel can feel, that's for certain, he could feel even before the war, before Father left, before Lucifer rebelled. But at the same time, he's absolutely convinced that Michael can't. After all, Michael spent the last odd millennia keeping the peace in Heaven, abiding by the rules and enforcing them with harsh justice. Not once did he falter, or compromise, unaffected by the words of men and his brothers alike. That must be what it is not to feel.

Lucifer had the opposite problem. He felt too much, too strongly, too quickly, and he destroyed himself, bringing down a great portion of the Heavenly Host with him. After once burning so bright, Lucifer has ebbed to a pale echo of his beautiful Grace, burnt out from his passion that once lit the beacon of hope for hundreds of angels who wanted to be freed of their post as guardians of mankind.

Right now, Gabriel's wishing that he could be a little bit more like Michael. The horrible moment he realised that he couldn't win this fight was the same one he looked into his brother's eyes, and realised that he couldn't kill him. He wasn't Michael, and even Michael cast Lucifer down as payment, instead of employing true justice. But Lucifer, Lucifer cares too much. He will take Gabriel's life, without a second thought, even though they both know his love for the Messenger is great. Passion for a cause always outweighs love.

"Gabriel." Sam's voice is uncertain now. Was his blade wavering already? "Gabriel, this needs to be done." Purposefully, Gabriel doesn't look to his lover. There's too much pain in doing that.

"You were my brother once," he whispers, to the twisted mass of Grace burning through the vessel before him. "Even after you fell, I would have loved you."

Lucifer snarls.

"Instead you spoke against me, and rallied garrisons to keep me from victory." A surge of Grace split through the atmosphere, nearly knocking Gabriel off balance, but he is ready. Energy draining rapidly, the Messenger raises his blade. "You spoke out against humans, but for peace. You never thought that you would be taken in by their filth. By their pathetic excuse for existence." He cocks his head to the side, blade suddenly in hand. "What would you do then? If you could see yourself now."

Honestly, Gabriel replies: "I wouldn't recognise myself," his voice a whisper. "And neither would you, if you looked on yourself now." Lucifer makes no attempt to deny it. "We've both changed."

"Now you will die," Lucifer says, and to his credit, he sounds apologetic. "And I hope you spend your eternity in peace, brother, since you love it so much." He's about to attack, Gabriel can see the Grace bubbling beneath his skin. The blade drops from his hand, and the Messenger realises, somehow, that he's ready to die.

Then Sam shouts, and he remembers that the right to leave is not his choice to make anymore.

…

Lucifer dies in a pillar of red and white flames, curling up to the Heavens and down to the Hells, whipping through the building and decimating all that stood in his way. Afterwards, when Dean retrieves the blade he buried through the Devil's back, he staggers over to help Gabriel stand up. The only thing more astounding than the fact that Lucifer was actually dead is the fact that it was Dean Winchester who killed him in the end. Sure, Gabriel had him on his toes, but it was Dean who actually wielded the blade. Speaking of which…

"Where did you get that?" Still sore from the shitstorm, Gabriel is in no state for sarcasm. Dean glances down at the angel's blade, then back up, his face a picture of impartiality.

"Castiel." The hurt which blossoms in the kid is painful to watch, so Gabriel decides to put him out of his misery.

"Well we should go give it back, don't you think?" Trying not to add a sickened comment about the love affair in question onto the end of his offer, Gabriel leans against Sam's arm, finally finding the courage to glance up at his face. The human was staring at the charred black wings which spanned the whole room, and the average, unassuming body which lay in their centre.

"That wasn't meant to happen," he finally whispers, and Gabriel tucks a hand underneath the hem of his jacket, to rest on warm skin.

"Neither was this." Sam knows what he means, without question, and they share a quick glance. Dean stands awkwardly, pretending not to listen but having absolutely nothing to distract himself with. Eventually, Gabriel catches his breath, and announces that they need to leave, before the Fallen converge on their location. There would be Hell to pay for this, quite literally, and Gabriel wasn't really ready for round two yet.

…

John and Bobby are still unconscious when they return to the motel room, but Gabriel wakes them with a wave of his hand before collapsing on the motel bed. Sam labels him out for the count, and sits down at the edge, resting his elbows on his knees and waiting for his father to regain motor function. Whatever it was that the demons did to them, they weren't going to recover in a minute.

"Sam," John croaks, windmilling his arms as he attempts to sit upright. Dean takes this opportunity to run through to the bathroom and throw up again, unsettled by the mode of transport. Bobby's first waking response was to punch John in the face, as he was the nearest thing within reach.

Sam watches the ensuing scuffle unfold, making no effort to stop the two men as they swore and rolled on the ground, concussed and bad-tempered. Finally, John staggered over to the other single bed in the room, and stared at Sam through crossed eyes.

"What happened?" he barks, shaking his head. Bobby's looking rather green, which isn't a good sign: there's only one toilet. "Where did you go?" He eyed Sam suspiciously. "How did you get back?" Sam jerks one finger in Gabriel's direction, then one in that of the retching sound from the bathroom.

"Dean killed the Devil," he explains, quickly. The expression on John's face is utterly priceless.

"Dean killed the… how the fuck did he manage that?" John's eyes travelled over to the bed, and Gabriel's prone form. "That's…" His eyes flicker up to Sam's, then back down. Bobby, who had just managed to pull himself upright, rolls his eyes.

"He used my blade," Castiel speaks up calmly, from the seat behind John, making him start and swear. "It was dangerous, as Lucifer is less angel than anything else, but at the same time, it worked." His frown deepens; the edges of his mouth turn steeply downwards. "Perhaps it was because it was the blade of a Fallen."

"Whatever it was, let's just be glad it's over," cuts in Dean, coming back into the room. "The Devil's dead, and now we just have to deal with the rest of the apocalypse."

"Great," mutters John, but Bobby grins. There's blood on the side of his head.

"Well in that case," grumbles Dean, dragging himself over to the bed his father sat on the edge of. "I'm just going to get some sleep while you celebrate." John shifts over as his son claims the bed, falling almost instantly to sleep, and looks back to Sam.

"If you really did just kill the Devil," he held up his hands, "and I'm not saying that you're lying, but if you did, we need to get out of town. Soon demons will be swarming the place." He nods towards Gabriel. "Why don't you wake him up and we'll-"

"Dad, I think he's done enough-"

"Nah, it's fine." Gabriel rolls over, and offers Sam a weak smile. "Don't sleep, remember." He looks awful, in Sam's opinion, but he's learned – from years of living with both John and Dean – to keep his opinions to himself. "Where are we going?" The bags beneath his eyes, and the still suppurating laceration on his forehead spoke doubts into Sam's head as to whether or not he was even capable of flying at this moment in time.

"Bobby's."

"Righty ho then," Gabriel sighs, and rubs his hands together, looking as though a gentle breeze might knock him over. "Bobby's it is…" He throws a sidelong glance at Dean, before closing his eyes. For a long moment, nothing happened.

"Um… Gabe?" asks Sam, after trading doubtful glances with his father.

"I'm working on it," the Archangel grumbles, scrunching up his face uncomfortably. "Just got my ass kicked by the Devil here." Sam smirks.

"You looked like you were doing fine." Gabriel indulges himself with a smirk in response, but doesn't open his eyes. The guy looks dead on his feet, swaying with the effort of even standing up.

"Then you humans don't see an awful lot, do you?" Knowing that his father is watching, Sam averts his eyes, looking to the ground. There is no point aggravating John's homophobia, especially when Gabriel is in no fit state for defensive countermeasures.

"I'm sure we could just drive," Bobby begins, clearly unconvinced that Gabriel could do anything more than sway on the spot, but the archangel cracks one golden eye open, to glare at the hunter.

"I've got this." It's a good thing, no doubt. None of them are in any fit state to drive, but then again, that had never stopped them all before. Gabriel closes his eye again. "Hold onto your hats, boys," he mutters, before the entire world squishes, and they're suddenly staring at a sign for Singer's autoyard. They're still about half a mile down the road, but considering the sheer amount of angel wards which Bobby had on the place, it is a miracle that Gabriel is even allowed to get so close at all.

"Jesus!" Dean shouts from the ground, throwing his hands in the air. He'd been unceremoniously deposited in the mud next to the road into the autoyard. Frustrated, he growls and flops, letting his arms fall into the churned dirt. Curiously, Castiel stands above him, staring down at the human as though he's casually observing loval wildlife. "This is getting ridiculous." Nearby, Bobby rolls his eyes, and kicks more mud at the younger hunter.

"Quit complaining."

"I killed the Devil," Dean shoved his nose in the air (the best anyone could while lying two feet from cow shit) "I'm allowed to complain." Sam also rolls his eyes at his brother's predictability, but he can't bring himself to object. As far as he's concerned, they all need a day off, and Dean's definitely earned one.

"Where's Gabriel?" asks John, his sour tone clear. Sam's heart drops as he looks around desperately, but the angel is nowhere to be immediately seen.

"Probably finding somewhere quiet to sleep it off," he excuses his lover, automatically. John's frown only deepens at his words.

"Or," Bobby poses, beginning to trudge away from them, and up the mud track towards his house. "Maybe he's just scared to go to sleep in a house he might get stabbed in." John looks surprisingly humbled at the accusation.

"I wouldn't stab him," he argues, mildly. Dean snorts, eventually clambering up out of the mud to stagger after them, still vaguely concussed.

"I would." Sam shoots his brother an evil glance, but Dean ignores him pointedly. It's no secret how much Dean hates the Trickster.

"I just want to talk to him, that's all," John continues, his voice light and oddly diplomatic. Both Winchester brothers stare openly at their father, mouths slightly ajar. Dean mutters "Christo" under his breath, to which John rolls his eyes, and shoves his hands in his pockets haughtily.

"Well the Devil's dead, boys, and I think it's time to have that chat we were talking about." The notion of John Winchester actually wanting to talk about something was vaguely disturbing.

"Not the time for that," adds Bobby, who's far making his way towards the house. The back door is already within eyesight. "I mean, we still have the God squad to deal with."

"And the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," adds Castiel, in a way which Sam's sure is at least _meant_ to be helpful. Dean tugs on his tie to signal his disapproval, shocking Sam slightly with his lighthearted approach.

"Three," Dean corrects, with a grin. Much to everyone's surprise, Castiel grins back, unreservedly. Sam doesn't think he's ever seen a time that Cas actually _smiled_. Shaking his head, and reserving the evening for surreal parental conversations about sleeping with angels, and watching his brother court a fallen seraphim in the most peculiar fashion conceivable, Sam crosses his arms, and concentrates on placing one foot in front of the other.

The Devil is dead, and maybe tonight, he'll be able to sleep without the whispers in his ear.

…

The humans are asleep by the time Gabriel manages to make his way to the so called house which Bobby holed up in, and he somehow manages not to wake any one of them, even though he enters the human way. He's been walking since the border of North Dakota (he just kind of hurled them the last twenty or so miles, because he felt like he needed the walk) and he's just a little glad that they've gotten home safe.

Not that he cares, or anything. If he cares, he wouldn't be involved in the war. He'd be sitting in the Mediterranean, sipping cocktails and killing people in peace, without a worry in the world. Sighing, Gabriel sneaks up into the living area. Dean and Castiel were mysteriously missing, no doubt talking about their feelings in a roundabout fashion in the spare room that the Harvelles had found beneath a pile of dusty books. Instead, it is only Sam in the living area, curled up on the couch in what looks like the most uncomfortable pose ever. It seems ridiculous, seeing someone so large crushed up into such a small space.

"Stop watching me sleep."

Shit, the kid was awake. Trying to suppress a grin – it's the first time that Sam's actually fooled him about anything – Gabriel kneels in front of the couch, and rests his head on his lover's shoulder. It seems too normal to be like this, but he is too tired, and too sore to object. Instead, they just sit in this (wholly uncomfortable but terribly satisfying) position for an excess of minutes, time slipping by as they lost themselves in thought. Eventually, Sam shifts, and Gabriel whines slightly because he has to move.

"Trust me," Sam says with a light chuckle, as he sits up and the blanket covering him falls to his lap. "This'll be more comfortable." Gabriel's too damn exhausted to do anything except blink owlishly as the hunter lifts the cushions off of the couch and brings them down to the floor, covering them with the blanket before lying down beside them. If Gabriel had any of his angel influence, he would have just conjured them a bed, but his Grace is anaemic, and he needs to rest.

"I trust you," says Gabriel, lightly. He's done freaking out. It takes too much fucking effort, and his insides feel like his outsides and he's currently not in the right state of mind for a debate. So he just lies down against Sam's stomach, pressing his nose to the human's collarbone and feeling the warmth seep between them. It's only then that he realises he's cold from the walk over. Twenty miles he's walked now, and it hasn't gotten any warmer on the way.

"Thank you," Sam finally whispers, once the air around them feels warmer, and he's stopped gently massaging Gabriel's back. "For finally choosing." Gabriel doesn't know if he's talking about them, or about his decision to stand up against Lucifer. It doesn't matter really: his answer is the same to both questions.

"The choice was made for me." Faintly, he felt Sam tense, but then the human relaxed again, clearly deciding that his deflection wasn't worth the debate. Large fingers trace his back, and Gabriel tilts his head, pressing his forehead against Sam's warm neck. He can hear the blood racing through the human body, almost taste the metallic tang of demons which still ran there, and always would. If he still possessed the energy, Gabriel would laugh at the strangeness of the situation. He is so very close to demon blood, and he somehow isn't experiencing the overwhelming urge to smite the being whose veins it pumps through. That in itself should constitute as a full blown miracle.

"So what now?" Sam asks, and once again, Gabriel isn't entirely sure which situation he's referring to. On one hand, he could be asking about the massive cluster-fuck which is their relationship, but he could also be talking about the potential problem of his other near-all-powerful brother and the horsemen of the apocalypse, who were no doubt still on the rampage. Thankfully, Sam specifies. "I mean, are we just going to track the horsemen down?" He sounds unsure, and Gabriel can't blame him for that.

"Sounds like a plan," Gabriel says lazily, so incredibly relaxed it's bordering on ridiculous. The only frustration which remains in his half broken body is the knowledge that he can't lose consciousness, and just give up, let his body recuperate automatically while he rests. Archangels aren't meant to rest, he supposes, although it's a bitter thought. "I say we take a day off though." He, for one, isn't going to allow himself to be dragged into another Winchester vendetta without a period of intense R&R.

Sam's chest twitches as he chuckles. "It is only fair," he concedes, and his voice is light, possibly the lightest Gabriel's ever heard it. But then again, that's kind of to be expected. The weight is lifted from Sam's shoulders, and the expectation of destiny has vanished. "I'd like to think we've earned it." If Gabriel had been any less tired, he would have made a dirty comment about what else he must've earned, but instead he just smiles and clears his throat. Softly, Sam kisses the top of his head, lips brushing against golden hair. "Go to sleep." Belatedly, he realises that his statement is more insulting than comforting, but Gabriel doesn't appear to take any such offense.

"I can't," Gabriel merely reminds him mildly, his voice light despite his exhaustion. "Remember?" Sam thinks back to the night in the motel room, and the Grace… the anomaly with Gabriel's Grace. The way that the angel had implied it, it was almost as though Sam had healed him. Logistically, he knows that's impossible, but in terms of impossible, they've already done pretty good today, and Sam isn't one to ignore a lucky streak.

"If I can heal you," Sam begins, tentatively, almost convinced that he's about to say something that Gabriel will find immeasurably incompetent "Then surely I can help you sleep as well?" Even though it's a hypothesis, it sounds more like a question when it comes out. Idly, Gabriel drums his fingers faintly against Sam's chest as he prepares a reply. Thankfully, he doesn't laugh, like Sam thought he was going to.

"It's different," the archangel says after a long minute, sounding completely certain.

"Oh." Sam can't lie and say he's not disappointed. The truth is that he kind of likes the thought of being able to heal Gabriel. There's something terribly poetic about it all, and he'd say as such if the voice in his head telling him he was a man (speaking in Dean's voice, of course) wasn't protesting. "Okay."

"I just can't – I wasn't designed for it," Gabriel goes on to explain, even though Sam doesn't actually require an explanation. "My Grace knew what it was meant to do, in that room, it just couldn't do it because I was too tired to tap into it." Gabriel sighs; he's been doing too much of that lately. Too much to think about, he supposes. "But I just don't know how to sleep, because it's not programmed into me." Before Sam can so much as open his mouth, he adds: "And I know that makes me sound like a droid, but I can assure you that-"

"I know, I know." Sam kisses the top of his head again. "I'm completely aware that you're not junkless." Gabriel squirms, happily, against his chest, before settling down again. It shouldn't give him this much satisfaction to be so predictable, but as it happens, he doesn't mind when Sam knows exactly what he's going to say. After all, he's bared enough of his soul already to this human. He's rebelled against both of his brothers, and everything he's ever believed in for this moment of peace, lying against a mortal's chest like a lovestruck teenage girl.

"We'll talk tomorrow I think," Gabriel says, just as Sam's vision is blurring, his eyelids drooping.

"'Bout what?" Sam slurs sleepily, barely conscious.

"Only the end of the world," are the last words Sam hears before sleep takes him. He neither has the energy nor the time to dwell on them.


	13. The Never-Ending Story

_Author's note: I know, I know… it's been so long that I'm a tad ashamed of myself. But fret not! Now I have not only a whole summer to do nothing except write but also a sudden hankering for some Sam/Gabriel so this fic should be continued if not finished soon. Hopefully. Then again, inspiration works in mysterious ways. :P _

_Now I haven't done a terrible amount of editing on this one, because I'm eager to move on and do the next chapter, which is already half written. If there's anything terribly horrendous do let me know. But otherwise: hope you enjoy the product of my madness! _

_-Em x_

…

Chapter 13: The Never-Ending Story

Dean and Castiel will be in the car right now, listening to old mullet rock in comfortable silence as neither man nor angel are willing to suffer one more moment inside Bobby's house. The tension is running high as a fever and Dean's earned the right for another few days of blissful ignorance so Sam lets them both be.

"The apocalypse didn't start because Lucifer rose." Gabriel says for what feels like the millionth time, speaking to John as though he were speaking to an idiot. "Lucifer rose because the apocalypse started. He was like the Horsemen – he was the one to raise the Horsemen, and to bring Hell to Earth."

"Lucifer's gone, so he's not trying to end the world anymore," complains John, bristling at Gabriel's lack of respect. By his side, Bobby's sitting with his arms crossed, remarkably calm about the entire conversation. Sam wonders if he's about to melt down any second now. "Surely that means that the problem is gone?"

"The problem was never actually Lucifer," reiterates Gabriel, and although he sounds casual Sam knows him better than that. The weight of Lucifer's death is hanging over his small figure, and making his shoulders droop low. Devil or no, last night they killed his brother. "It was Michael."

"Michael didn't get his destiny," interjects Sam, staring down at Gabriel's expression as it changes. "Is there anything else he can really do?" Apart from exact revenge, of course, but Sam chooses not to think about that just now.

"It's the only way he knows to end the world shorts of nuking the entire planet," Gabriel muses, scrunching up his face and chewing on his lip like a confused child. "So apart from the ass-reaming I'm going to receive if he ever catches up with me, he'll just have to grit his teeth and bear it. He was fine with Lucifer being the one to get his hands dirty and do the actual killing: he won't get human blood on his hands. He doesn't have the stomach for it, never did." Surprisingly, considering Gabriel's history with his eldest brother, there is no hatred in his voice. Sam still hasn't told Gabriel that he knows exactly what happened in Heaven, that he was banished before he ran. He still hasn't decided if it matters either way.

"So we don't worry about Michael or Lucifer…" John glances between Sam and Gabriel, that flicker of discomfort at what they were doing ever present, but his main focus is on their words. "What are we worried about?"

"The Horsemen." It's actually Bobby who speaks up and answers his question. Jerking his head up in surprise, Gabriel nods.

"Exactly. They've been raised, they've woken up and per legend and they're pissed at everything and everyone for no reason. Sam and Dean have already taken care of War, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, but as it happens he's the little brother." Gabriel makes a face which implies his thoughts are far from pleasant. "His brothers are an altogether different story."

"Famine, Pestilence and Death." Sam recites, frowning. "How exactly can we kill Death?" When Gabriel gives him an amused glance he feels like there's a joke at his expense. "Or not?" he adds, confused. His lover chooses to put him out of his misery.

"Death ironically is not going to be a problem. Death and God have always had some sort of understanding," Gabriel waves his hand as though he doesn't need to elaborate "but his brothers are the wild cards, _especially_ Pestilence. He will definitely take his personally."

"Great, now we just have to kill the harbingers of the apocalypse," mutters John, darkly, turning his eyes to the knife he was absently caressing with his fingertips. "No issue there."

"Nope, not really," Gabriel counters cheerfully, swinging his legs over the side of Bobby's kitchen table where he sat. "After all, we have all the equipment."

"We do?" This is news to Sam. "We have something that can kill a Horseman of the Apocalypse?" The disbelief in his voice seems to amuse Gabriel even further.

"That knife in your belt?" Gabriel nods towards it, and Sam's hand falls to his waistband, feeling the familiar curve of Ruby's knife. After a moment of silence Gabriel's eyebrows raise in surprise. "I don't know where the demon whore got it, but it's got one hell of a lot more history than you know." Once more, Gabriel makes no effort to elaborate.

"So this knife can kill Pestilence and Famine," Sam has to make sure that he's heard his lover correctly. "Just like that?" Gabriel pouts, as though considering this, then nods. Sam isn't entirely comforted by his apparent indecision.

"Then we just have to deal with Michael."

"I thought you said Michael isn't a problem…" growled John, sounding less than pleased. "Start talking straight."

"Poor choice of words, Johnny," Gabriel chuckles, but then notes the warning expression on Sam's face and his smile fails. "Fine. I mean that once the Horsemen are gone – if we can get the Horsemen gone – then Michael will be on the warpath. Without Raphael he doesn't have any choice but to come down himself. That means he'll still be coming at Dean with all the intention to get all up in there and boogie." John frowns at the angel's odd metaphor. "But we'll just cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?"

"Sounds good to me," Bobby pipes up, unexpectedly, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting the shotgun which now never left his side. "No point thinking too far into the future."

"Pessimism looks good on no-one, sunshine," Gabriel adds, but Bobby just scowls and stalks away out of the door, mumbling something about an alcohol run. Neither of the humans present in the room thought it wise to stop him.

As soon as it's just the three of them in the room, John becomes uncomfortable. Sam can see it in the way he stands, the awkwardness of his crossed arms and the tightness in his mouth. He had promised his son that they'll talk about this, the apocalypse, the fucking Ruby, the fucking Gabriel, his abysmal choices in general, when everything was said and done and the apocalypse was over. Clearly he had thought that moment to be when the Devil was killed, but still now he held to his word.

"I'm going with him," John barks suddenly, and rushes after Bobby without a backwards glance.

In the silence that follows his father's exit, Sam turns his eyes on Gabriel.

"That went well," the angel says, brightly and sarcastically, earning himself a glare. "What?"

"It's bad enough that my own father, raised from the dead by your now dead brother, can't even look me in the eye: there's no reason for you to rub it in." Sam knows he sounds harsh but doesn't attempt to explain. Gabriel knows him, better than he'll ever let on, so he knows that Sam's not angry with him as such, just his methods. And he should also know that Sam's always going to be angry with his methods, no matter the outcome.

Gabriel levels him with a stare worthy of John Winchester, and slowly slips off the table.

"Sam, you cannot allow your father's personal prejudice to keep you from completing your objectives," Gabriel urges. He usually sounds so normal, almost human, but here he sounds almost as stilted as Castiel. "John Winchester doesn't understand what it is we do – what we have." Even though he knew his lover means well, Sam couldn't help how useless he still felt in the wake of his father's clear disappointment.

"Ever since he… I spent so long thinking I'd betrayed him," admits Sam, forlornly. It's a truth that he cannot tell to Dean – Dean's too fragile to handle Sam's emotional pain as well as his own. "I mean, so many years hunting then I just up and left. Like I never cared about them at all." It was them, back then. Them and Sam, not a family.

"Your father drove you out," Gabriel reassures, and of course he knows the story. After all, he'd clearly been keeping a special eye on his brothers' vessels. All the angels had, no doubt.

"But I chose to leave," Sam bows his head "I wanted to. Then I came back, and I fought to find him but it wasn't just because I was worried about him. It was because of Jessica." It still hurts to speak her name, after all of this time, but Sam's just beginning to understand that these things always hurt. "I wanted revenge and I finally understood the darkness that drove him."

Gabriel keeps his distance, even though Sam yearns for the warmth of his touch. Maybe it was just the passing mention of Jessica, but his resolve is shaking. "We lost him because of me. Because of my _destiny_." Sam shakes his head, flattening his palms against his shoulders as he hugs his torso, mostly unaware he is even doing so.

"Your destiny" admits Gabriel, slowly "but not your fault." Sam chooses to ignore the note of reassurance, because it's little more than that. It was his fault, it's all his fault, and he knows that if he can't accept responsibility for it, he'll fall somewhere worse than where he was after Jessica's death.

"Then there's Ruby."

"That _was_ your fault," agrees Gabriel, tactlessly.

"Dad would have turned in his grave if we'd buried him, but he was too busy rotting in hell as Alasdair tried to turn him into the righteous man. Because of Azazel."

_Because of me._ The words were left unspoken yet echo clearly across the space between them. "I just can't understand if his return is punishment for my sins; if he's come back from the grave to remind me of all the bad calls I've made and all the innocent lives I've ruined." Gabriel is silent – he will not lie to Sam, and as an Archangel he understands the true ramifications the apocalypse has to the innocent bystanders.

"I don't know how to fix it." Sam snorts. "I can kill every goddamn evil son of a bitch from here to the coast and wouldn't think a thing about it, but I can't even talk to my own father about how I feel." He stares deep into Gabriel's concerned golden eyes. "How fucked up is that?"

To his complete surprise (though why anything Gabriel does surprises him at all anymore is beyond Sam) the angel's supple mouth curves into a smirk and a little chuckle escapes him.

"We're a group of six," Gabriel begins, sauntering closer and staring up at the human, unfazed by the clear height difference, as per usual. "Your father: a resurrected chauvinist still living in the dark ages when it comes to shades of grey and homosexuality, emotionally unstable after having spent a century refusing the advances of hell's most trusted coercer. Your brother: a resurrected narcissist still reliving his every mistake from being born to saying yes to aforementioned coercer of hell and kick-starting the apocalypse, so consumed by guilt and self-loathing that he's relying on Castiel, the fallen boy angel, to hold him up emotionally. Cassy: my little bro's so weird in the head you humans couldn't even fathom it. He's been resurrected, killed, mutilated, he's lost his faith, he's found his faith, and he's currently walking down a lonely path angels aren't supposed to even consider walking. Old man Bobby: he had to stab his own possessed wife, still sees her face sometimes in the street and keeps shotgun pellets in his boots for emergencies when he visits the grocery store. There's also me, but you know exactly how far my brand of wrong goes."

Gabriel scoffs, and crosses his arms. "Look around Sammy: we're _all_ so fucked in the head that it's a miracle we're even functioning as separate entities, let alone together."

"Most of all me," Sam adds.

"Prove it," challenges Gabriel, sticking his nose in the air and spreading his arms arrogantly. "Come at me, bro." Rolling his eyes, Sam half-heartedly pushes his lover in the chest. No doubt for the human's benefit, Gabriel stumbles backwards dramatically, clutching at his chest in apparent pain.

"You wound me!" he exclaimed in his best theatrical voice. "Why would you do such a terrible thing to the man you love?" Sam laughs, belatedly realising that they're just glossing over the word now, not thinking anything more of it: it's an accepted concept now. They're in love.

"First of all, you're not a man." Gabriel's' theatrics dull immediately as Sam steps forwards, so close into his personal space that heat fires between them, awakening sense Sam wasn't aware he even possessed. "Secondly…" The human's hot fingertips curled around the hem of Gabriel's shirt, forcing it up painfully slow until it exposed his entire chest. "So I can kiss it better…"

"I suppose that's acceptable then," Gabriel whines faintly, shuddering as Sam's lips press to his sternum, moist and loving. "No arguments here."

Sam takes a moment to glance up and silence the angel with a mocking frown.

"Shut up."

Gabriel happily complies.

* * *

><p>John finds Sam cleaning his weapons in the sun on top of an old escalade which brought back bad memories, and watches him for a couple of minutes without interrupting. Sam knows his father, better than most, and he knows, immediately, what's on his mind.<p>

"I thought that this talk was reserved for after the apocalypse was over." Sam is only half joking, but he smirks at his father nonetheless. He's determined not to allow his father's phobia of his relationship to put him off. He's doing nothing wrong here, especially not compared to everything he's done in the past. The weight has been taken from his chest: the chaos of the Horsemen still plague his conscious mind but the evil whispers of doubt and corruption in his dreams had dissolved the moment Dean plunged Cas' sword through the Devil's heart.

"That was the talk about the demon. The talk about the things you've done." Whenever he used to say "the demon" he used to mean Azazel, the yellow-eyed bastard who had destroyed their family, but now it means Ruby. Azazel is in the past, a bad memory which was one of the many conditions which made them the men they are today. "This is the talk about the angel." It had been inevitable really, however much Sam had wished it would be one of those things they both agreed never to talk about, like mom.

"Hit me," says Sam with a long suffering sigh. This will devolve into another disbelieving conversation about how John's son likes another man, and how this was never meant to be, how he hadn't raised him soft.

"I suppose it's better than the demon," is all that John eventually says, and saying even so little I so emotionally traumatising that he steps backwards dramatically and stares at his shoes as though they're the most interesting things on the planet. Sam's so impressed by this sudden concession that he laughs, and decides to allow his father to call his lover an "it". "It" is probably the most accurate pronoun anyways.

"Is that your blessing?" He doesn't mean to rub the moment in his father's face, but a little "I told you so" might do the man good. Ever since Azazel's death and John's revival, he's been so much more peaceful and so much less like the man they grew up following from town to town, but in the past week since the Devil's death he's been staring at Sam like he's got a fetish for goldfish.

"Something like that," confirms John "Allergic-to-straight-answers" Winchester, moodily. He's looking anywhere except at his son, but there's less disgust than there is awkwardness and desperation. He was never very good at these situations, and for the first time in his life with anyone else but Dean Sam feels like he's the most emotionally mature one in the room.

Sam recognises the Winchester equivalent of an olive branch from his long career of accepting wayward half formed apologies from Dean, and is more than willing to accept it.

"Thanks Dad," Sam says, and although a chuckle escapes him, he truly means it. "And there's nothing wrong with the way you brought me up. I know that's what's worrying you, but it shouldn't." He is so free now, free of the Devil and free of the awful curse that he can just speak and not worry about the consequences of the truth. Sam wonders if this is what it feels like to be safe. "Before Gabriel, I never looked at men like that." John blanches at the blatant subject matter. "Hell, I still kind of don't. But these past few years… Dad, they've changed us all. Normal isn't remotely close to an option anymore, and I guess I've given up caring how far from it I am."

"That's great, son." Even though John looks as though he'd rather dance naked with Bobby than actually participate in this conversation, he nods his assent. "You know I'm proud of you. You've fucked up royally in so many ways but you and Dean are cleaning up your messes. I respect that, and always will. No matter what I might say sometimes." It's warning to come that when John is angry, he'll say things he might regret. Sam smiles because they both do, but now, somehow, they have the capacity to apologise to each other. So those terrible things they have and will say don't matter as much as these ones.

"In a way," his father continues, but his mouth's curling and Sam can see that his father's about to make a joke. "It's good that you fucked up." Sam raises his eyebrows, turning his firearm over in his hands and checking the barrel. "More time with you two."

"Totally worth it then," Sam jokes back, and his father grins, grateful to the end of the serious conversation. He's forgotten how much younger John looks when he's smiling. Clearing his throat Sam decides – belatedly – that there's been enough estrogen for today. "How you feeling today? I mean, I'm presuming your arm isn't still broken from the crash."

"Yeah, I'm all new," admitted John, rolling his shoulders experimentally as he walked around the escalade and leaned on the hood. It's a pose so common to Dean it's strange seeing John taking it up, but then again, Dean gleaned a great deal of his personality from John. "It feels weird though," john continues. "As though I'm ill at ease in my own body. It feels… different."

"It's gonna be a little different according to Gabriel," Sam relays, and John doesn't even flinch at the sound of Gabriel's name. "You're taller, for one." Still, he stood taller than his father, but the difference felt more marginal than it had before.

"And younger," adds John with a slight chuckle. "I feel thirty again." The grey is gone from his hair and beard, and the deep worry lines Sam had learned to associate with his father are smoother now.

"And definitely softer," continues a female voice from the edge of the clearing, sharply, and it's one that they both immediately recognise. Ruby's knife is in Sam's hand within an instant, and John's gun levels at Meg's chest. "Old Johnny would have never talked to old Sammy like that," Meg continues with a smirk and a wink. "Cute."

"What do you want, Meg?" Sam hisses, advancing slightly with the knife. She doesn't even bother blinking at his reaction, and places her hands on her hips. Sam briefly remembers Lucifer calling her Azrea, but they will always know her as Meg Masters, no matter what poor girl she was possessing now.

"Sam, John," Meg counters, dryly. "That's great, now we all remember each other. Can we get down to business yet?" Sam is about to open his mouth and tell her where to stick it, but John calmly places his hand on his youngest son's shoulder, holding him back. Confused, Sam looks to his father and is silenced with a strong glare.

"She's terrified Sam, just look at her."

Then Sam looks. Sam really looks, and he realises as soon as he does that Meg's shoulders are tensing in frustration and the fear is brooding behind her eyes and she's completely screwed.

"Of course I'm bricking it you useless excuses for meat-suits," spits Meg, clearly at the end of her patience. "Only a fool or a Winchester – although I suppose the two are synonymous – would not be. I'm the demon whose watch Lucifer died on. I'm also the main face on the new-age Devil movement which isn't very popular in Crowley's ranks. Every demon out there is gunning for me whoever they're grabbing ankle for." She is trembling now, visibly, and looks disturbingly human.

"And what makes you think that we're not just going to kill you?" Sam snarls, his fingers tightening around the smooth bony handle of Ruby's knife. Meg laughs aloud, not like his question was funny, but rather like the desperation has suddenly come too much and it's crushing her sanity. Sam and John trade nervous glances, neither able to discern her next move. Now, she is unpredictable, and infinitely more dangerous.

"Go ahead, Gigantor," Meg finally sighs, after she's recovered from her hilarity. "Do it. It'll be faster than any other way I'd wager, and a lot less painful."

"Don't be too sure about that," John mutters through gritted teeth. His last experience with Meg had been less than pleasant and he is clearly itching for payback.

"Oh _please_, Johnny," hisses Meg in exasperation. "I know pain – the kind of pain that you know from Alasdair. I turned for him too, you know, in that unrelenting, unimaginable Hell." John flinches at the mention of Alasdair, and Sam makes a mental note to tell his father how he'd killed the bastard. "And when they find me, and they will, they will bring Hell with them."

Sam can't help it: he feels a stab of pity for the hopeless creature. This is Meg, the demon who did so much crap to them that they exorcised her twice and threw her off a rooftop in Chicago. They hate Meg, and they're not afraid to admit it but Sam knows, better than any of the hunters he'd bet, including those of them who have been to Hell, the depravity of demons. After all, he's had demon blood coursing through his blood, filling him with demon urges and demon desires. After all that he's felt and all that he's done, he cannot help but to pity her, if just a little.

"What do you want?" Meg seems genuinely surprised at his change in tone, as though she had wholeheartedly expected him to actually stab her on the spot. It was a fair prediction to make.

"More importantly: what do you want?" Meg saunters slightly closer, yet wisely keeps a certain distance between herself and a still seething John. "I'm guessing the Horsemen?" Sam and John trade glances, the same thought running through both of their heads simuleaneously.

"Why would you want to stop the apocalypse?" John finally asks their question, suspiciously. "When you've been gunning for it since day one?"

"Please spare me," Meg groans "you don't seriously believe that I want to live in a post-apocalyptic heaven? Without Lucifer, that's what it will be, when Michael takes control. A bastardised heaven – do you seriously think that I want to live like that?" The utter disgust in her voice is difficult to miss.

"She has a point," Sam grudgingly concedes, because he remembers the promises that Zachariah made, about the world after the apocalypse. The world of the angels, he had said.

"Thank you Moose," Meg croons sarcastically. "I'm glad you think so." Sam glares at her. "Now I want the Horsemen dead, and you want both me and the Horsemen dead. Now I'm going to make this as simple as I can so your simple human brains can comprehend." Meg stops for a breath, her eyes flashing at them both in ill-contained anger. She hates them just as much as they hate her, and it's all showing in her eyes.

"We're done making deals," cuts in John.

"Good for you," Meg snaps humorlessly. "In other news, if you want a Horseman there's one in South Alabama, harvesting the souls in a town called Green Valley. I'd move fast too, if I were you; they don't tend to linger long."

"Which one?" Is Sam's first question, but John has a very different approach.

"How do we know this is a trap?" Both are very valid questions, and Meg answers them both in short, simple sentences, her voice filled with exasperated exaggeration.

"I don't know, and you don't know," Meg shrugs "I said it was simple: you were the ones who didn't listen. I gave you this because last time I checked, you were still hunters." She leans forwards and bares her teeth, barely containing her rage. "So hunt." She turns on her heel and begins to walk away, her hips swinging dramatically with every step she takes down the salvage yard.

"But don't you want revenge?" Sam has to ask; he doesn't know her motives and his curiosity is killing him. Meg's slim figure pauses, on the verge of disappearing behind a dingy wheel-less pickup.

"Don't talk to me about revenge, Winchester," she whispers, and her words carry on a sudden, cold wind. "Don't think this changes a thing."

"You're helping us."

"I'm helping myself, idiot." She sounds far too tired to truly be angry anymore. Her back still faces them, and her shoulders are tense. "Welcome to the grown up world, Sammy. We have to do all sorts of things we don't want to do with a whole lot of people who we don't want to do them with. After the Horsemen are dead," she glances over her shoulder, eyes blazing so black that they sucked in Sam's gaze and held it. "I'll be coming for you. You'll all pay."

She vanishes before their very eyes, and Sam blinks hard to remove the mental image of the pure hatred in her yet black eyes. It didn't hurt him, but it chilled him to the core, and it reminds him horribly of Ruby. After all, Ruby had gone through a great deal to keep her secrets, and to stay loyal to her God. There's nothing like the apocalypse to help a man see the shades of grey, it seems.

"Shit." John banishes the silence first, his voice echoing through the now otherwise empty autoyard.

"Yeah," Sam concurs, grabbing his equipment off the top of the escalade. "Come on. Dean's not gonna believe this, and he'll like it even less." Frowning, John follows on his heels, keen brown eyes swiftly scanning their surroundings as they walked, as though he expects Meg to jump back out with an Uzi.

"So what is this: do we believe the demon Meg?" he sounds incredulous, but the fact that he is even asking at all tells Sam he cares about his son's opinion and will listen if he has something to say about it. "Call me crazy but you look like you're considering it."

Sam pauses at the front door to look his father in the eye.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "Meg is terrified, and she's completely screwed. She's got a point – we have the same aim here. And she needs us a lot more than we need her right now."

"Dean won't like this," warns John, and Sam doesn't know if this is agreement from John or just a wayward comment. Either way, he was right; Dean won't like this one bit.

"We'll just have to see."

* * *

><p>"No way in Hell." As predicted, Dean is having none of it. The moment Meg was mentioned he had actually taken out his gun as though he was about to shoot her memory. With a face like thunder, he is rounding on Sam and with a series of offensive arm movements, explaining precisely why they can't trust Meg. As disturbing as the delivery is, he's right on the most part.<p>

"I'm not saying we're going to team up with her or anything," Sam complains, when Dean resurfaces from his ranting to breathe. "I'm saying we should check out what she's saying."

"She tried to kill Cas! She was almost very successful in killing Cas!" Dean all but shrieks, but the angel himself remains silent, staring at Dean with wide and confused blue eyes. "In what way can we trust her? This is fucking ridiculous, Sam, and it's Ruby all over again." Sam's temper flares – it's nothing like how it was with Ruby.

"Who said anything about trusting her?" Sam waves his arms in frustration. The way he sees it, his brother is being intentionally obtuse.

Eyes narrowed, Dean stands strong, refusing to budge even an inch from his strong principles. He is right, of course, when it comes to principle, and that's the most infuriating part. They can't trust Meg, but they have to accept that sometimes the missions of humans and demons might happen to coincide when they're both as screwed as the other. As pissed as Sam is at Meg, he understands her situation; she was taken in by Lucifer's charm and was fucked over by bad luck and horrible coincidence. It's a position Sam can relate to, to an extent.

The argument abruptly ends when Bobby looses a round through the window. Jerking backwards in chock and damn near craping his pants, Sam blinks owlishly a couple of times at the older hunter before glancing sideways at Dean, who looks similarly surprised. John steps forwards in indignation, while Castiel, somehow, looks entirely unfazed and merely watches the situation unfold as though he were watching a rare and physics defying mating ritual and he doesn't understand what went where.

"Bloody idjits," Bobby final yells, brandishing the shotgun worryingly. "Will you shut up for a second and listen to me?" Dean and Sam have the good sense to look ashamed of their behaviour.

"Yes sir," murmurs Dean, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Good!" Bobby throws his shotgun down on the desk. "Now if you two would get your heads out of your asses for even just a minute I think you'd benefit to know that I had Green Valley shortlisted."

"Shortlisted?" Sam asks stupidly, and immediately regrets it as he receives a brutal stare from Bobby.

"Look at this." All three Winchesters follow the path of Bobby's finger with their eyes, but keep a respectable distance from the map lying on the table. "Green Valley lies in the path of a legion of freak electrical storms. With demon signals popping up all over the country I didn't see anything special about Green Valley."

"Chances are that it's just the demons that Meg's setting us up for who are causing the storms," Dean interjects, and Bobby shrugs.

"Are you willing to take that chance?" he asks, his eyes slightly narrowed. "If the Horseman leaves we might not get another shot."

"He's right, boys," confirms John, and for the first time in the conversation Dean looks torn. John's opinion has always been the law, and his word the gospel. But this, trusting the word of a demon, no matter her situation, does against every instinct Dean has. "The Horsemen are nasty motherfuckers and they need to go."

"Yes sir," Sam agrees immediately but Dean looks to the floor. All three men watch him with varying degrees of expectation, but Dean doesn't look to any of them for guidance. To all of their internal surprise, he looks instead to Castiel.

"What do you think, Cas?" Dean asks quietly, and Cas cocks his head to the side in a painfully angelic fashion.

"Being human teaches you a lot about the futility and fragility of life. You could only have one chance." Cas straightens his neck and gives a near imperceptible nod. "Take it."

Without another word to Cas, Dean turns back around to the hunters and crosses his arms. He still looks pissed, but he's on board.

"Fine. What's the plan?"

Bobby, too shocked by the role reversal between Dean and the fallen angel, shrugs as he clears his throat.

"I'll make as many calls as I can and we'll gather the chosen few who made it through this much of the apocalypse but I can't promise many will bite." Bobby looks at the map, eyes tracing the coloured lines spider-webbing across it, fixating on Southern Alabama. "Then we walk straight up and stab the bastard in the face." Sam, unable to think of anything more tactical on such short notice, nods.

"I'll let Gabriel know. We might need his help."

"Might?" jokes John dryly, raising his eyebrows at his son. "We need all the help we can get."

Sam sighs – he has to agree with his father on that one.


End file.
